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smuttysabina · 2 months ago

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Everglow's Big Cock Impregnation

(Male Reader X Everglow, 8k Words) Tags: You have a massive cock; Like, an unreasonably huge penis; Idol impregnation; Lots of fat sloppy creampies; Anal, oral, and vaginal sex; Some messy consequences from taking a gargantuan cock; Piss; Tears; Some puking; Brutal sex; Loving sex; These girls are built like rubber; Also Jihyo shows up

You stir nervously on the bed as the idols of Everglow eye you speculatively, with expressions ranging from interested to resigned. All of them remain silent though as Sihyeon slowly reads through the letter that you had brought, her eyebrows raising higher with every line until her face is a parody of shock. She coughs awkwardly as she finishes, before giving a slight nod that makes the other girls groan with disgust; their suspicions were correct after all. Any sort of gift from that perverse matriarch Jihyo was bound to involve insemination. You of course, had already been thoroughly briefed upon what your task was to be, you were to impregnate all of Everglow, and were to continue trying until each of them had swollen bellies. Their company had been attempting to get the girls knocked up for some time, in part so they could do a pregnancy concept, and also because then they could have an actual reason for not giving the girls as many comebacks as they would like. Everglow however, had remained noticeably without child, even after countless gangbangs that had left the girls practically drowning in semen; so the expert on such matters had been consulted. Jihyo had already thoroughly examined Everglow when they had visited one of her... seminars, and so knew exactly what was required to achieve the desired results. You had been selected from amongst Twice's vast pool of breeding material, and packed off to Everglow bearing only a box and a cheerful letter from Jihyo; with her own instructions burning bright in your mind:

"Knock them up, dear," she had purred encouragingly, "and don't be afraid to be a little rough with them..."

Everglow were not entirely too pleased about their most recent assignment. They had all expected to be impregnated by their fans at some point, having their holes glutted with seed on a weekly basis would eventually result in their eggs getting properly fertilized by inferior sperm, but this was the sort of thing that usually happened near the end of a group's lifespan. Of the six idols, only EU and Sihyeon were open to the idea, the latter due to her kindly nature, while the former was simply aroused by the perversity of getting fucked while pregnant. Aisha and Mia were indifferent on the matter, they would continue to enjoy getting roughly plowed even if they had a baby bouncing around in their stomach. Onda and Yiren however, were vehemently opposed to the plan, Onda because she was horrified at the thought of having so large an object squeezed through her tight pussy, and Yiren because she was physical revolted by the concept of lowborn scum filling her with their child. So to say Everglow's reaction to your arrival was mixed would be an understatement; as they all look at the boy Jihyo had sent them, wondering what made you so special...

Aisha makes a pleased noise as she tears open the box, pulling out a purple bottle that glistened in the light, by now every idol was more than familiar with Twice's aphrodisiacal concoction; and Aisha enjoyed the raw sexual aggression it gave its drinkers. Then she notes the rather large "2" emblazoned on its label, and sighs as she reads that the new brew had tamped down on the sexual aggression in favor of... "Enhanced sperm density and capacity," Aisha gives the other girls a bland look as she tosses the expensive bottle onto the bed, "Jihyo really is serious about getting us knocked up." Yiren rolls her eyes, "If that is all it takes, then why can't we just give it to a more... suitable man," before giving you an unhappy glare. "Hey now," Sihyeon coughs awkwardly as she tries to placate Yiren, "Jihyo picked him for a reason, so let's see, okay?" Grumbling, Yiren waves at you to hurry it up, "Well?" And the rest of Everglow return to staring curiously at you, "show us already..." So you blushingly wriggle out of your pants, and wait for the inevitable mockery and disgust. "Oh," says Aisha with interest. "Wow," says EU with a perverse gleam in her eyes. "What the fuck," says Yiren naseausly. "Goodness," says a shocked Sihyeon. "Mmmph," says an aroused Mia. "Nononono," says a horrified Onda, who promptly pisses herself.

The other girls ignore the puddle spreading from beneath Onda as they thoroughly examine your truly monstrous manhood, as if someone urinating on the floor was not an uncommon sight for them. Everglow crowd around to poke and prod at your massive cock, muttering in disbelief and shock at the sheer size and heft of it, and you worry that it would all end in tears or laughter like so many of your other liaisons. Having such a gargantuan dong had meant that you had never been inside a woman before, most girls had simply refused to even try, while those that did usually ended up shaking their heads in exasperation; it simply couldn't fit. You had hoped that Jihyo would put your virginity out of its misery, but she had simply smiled knowingly and told you to hold on a little longer; she had kindly milked you using her breasts though, which had resulted in you hosing Jihyo's face down with thick semen. So you were expecting more of the same from your beloved idols of Everglow, that they would reject Jihyo's instructions and look for another way to get knocked up; really, you should have known better. While some of the girls appeared downright horrified, others looked on benignly, or even watched with obvious arousal as their sleek hands touched your meat. You shudder as Mia and EU unexpectedly lean in and smooch the length of flesh before them, before they hold their arms up to your cock in comparison, laughing with the others in wonder as your dick dwarfs their forearms. To your shock, it is Yiren who ends the festival atmosphere by making the first move.

"What the hell is that bitch trying to say, that we're too loose to get impregnated?" Yiren sneers contemptuously at you, "Fine then, I'll fuck this ridiculous thing, and then I can get back to getting bred by men who actually matter!" The other idols greet this pronouncement with cheers and teasing laughter, evidently they were as used to Yiren being a haughty bitch as they were to Onda pissing herself in fear. Sihyeon busies herself with opening the bottle of aphrodisiac, and feeds you a measure of it with a reassuring smile before backing off as warmth rushes through your body and surges in your balls. Your heart pounds in your chest as Yiren confidently strips before you, uncaring of any trepidation you might have as she stalks towards you, her perky breasts complimenting her rolling narrow hips. She shoves you onto your back with a delicate hand, before gracefully straddling your crotch, her lips curl as she takes in just how massive your cock is compared to her petite body; but her pride drives her onwards. Yiren hoists your monstrous dick, and pauses once more as it thuds between her breasts, her eyebrows raise as she looks down at you with incredulity, "Seriously, what the fuck," Grimacing, she precariously plants herself atop your drooling cockhead, which itself was nearly as wide as her entire pussy, and takes a deep breath to relax her hole. Yiren's legs tense as she applies more and more of her bodyweight to the task, and the thick trunk of your member starts to wobble dangerously, as soon the idol is forcing her entire upper body onto it. She soon has support however, as Mia, Onda, and Sihyeon work to hold your cock steady as Aisha and EU grasp their groupmate's shoulders to add their own efforts to the struggle. Yiren grits her teeth, as you feel a moist sensation slowly spreading across your tip, until with sudden tearing sensation, your cockhead pops inside of her.

Yiren screams. The rest of Everglow jerk back in surprise as Yiren howls as if she had been stabbed, clutching at her pussy and struggling to stand off of your cock, but she is trapped by the flare of your head. The other girls rush too sooth her, she might be an arrogant bitch, but she was their arrogant bitch, and under their tender touches she eventually calms herself down enough to glare down at you furiously, "Fucking peasant, how fucking dare you-" she hisses with pain as she slowly starts to move, "Why is it so damn big?" she bemoans. You would reply, but you are too busy enjoying the novel sensation of a real woman's hole wrapped around your cock. Whatever details Yiren's pampered pussy had were obliterated as it was stretched agonizingly wide to accommodate your meat, but it's burning heat and wetness stimulated you to no end as the idol picks up her pace. You instinctively reach up towards her waist to haul her further down your length, but she angrily slaps your hands away, "Don't fucking touching me, you scum! she snarls as she slowly impales herself on your cock, her entire body quivering as an obvious bulge appears in her stomach. Yiren halts with only a third of your cock inside of her, groaning as she tries to force herself deeper but is unable to do so. The rest of Everglow lounge around you both, idly masturbating beneath their skirts as she gingerly starts to ride you, the pink flesh of her pussy dragging along your shaft as she moves.

The privileged idol gradually regains her hauteur as she grows used to the massive length stretching out her belly, and soon Yiren is sneering down at you once more, "Such- a- useless- hunk- of- meat," she hisses between strokes, "You are- lucky- a lady like me- took your- worthless- fucking- virginity!" You simply lay back and take it, groaning as the aristocratic bitch perched atop your cock hurls abuse at you even while she fucks you. The changing pitch of your voice causes Yiren to pause though, and an imperious smirk crosses her face, "What, already? Very well, I shall allow your filthy, lowborn seed inside of me," she stops and gives you an expectant look, "Well peasant? I don't have all day!" With that she resumes her ride, gritting her teeth as she impatiently pleasures you until your balls are nestled against your shaft and pulsating rhythmically. Yiren preens as the first ropes of semen splash inside of her, expertly rising upwards to make room for your load as it gradually fills her, "You really think your worthless seed could- ah?" she glances down as the tight lips of her entrance bump against the flare of your cockhead, even as your seed continues to steadily flow inside of her pussy. Yiren's eyes widen in shock, and then panic as she struggles to unmount you, her pampered cunt was filled to capacity but your orgasm was not yet finished. She moans and clutches at her stomach as it bulges with your cum, but she retains enough of her pride to refuse calling for help, even shoving a finger up her urethra to stop her bladder from voiding itself from the pressure.

Only when your balls have fallen does Yiren demean herself enough to ask for assistance, her legs trembling as she struggles to hold herself upright on top of your gargantuan cock. The other girls hurry to help her off of you, they might have enjoyed watching her getting her guts pummeled, but they would still support the arrogant bitch no matter what. Your dick slams wetly against your chest as Yiren finally succeeds in unmounting you, a gush of seminal fluids and precum follows, but the majority of your enhanced load remains within the idol. Everglow seems to have mostly forgotten about you as they sooth a groaning Yiren, though they are quick to examine the load currently clogging her insides. Which causes EU to undiplomatically note, "I think you're getting pregnant whether you like it or not, his jizz is like butter!" Yiren, of course, is deeply unhappy about this, and the other girls retreat as she petulantly drives them off, before quietly crying and shamelessly pissing on the bed. Sihyeon remains behind to give her some comfort, but the rest of Everglow now eye with far more respect than before, as well as desire. "So," says Aisha as she pulls up her dress, revealing the flushed, cinnamon-colored slit between her legs, and gives you a sleazy grin, "Me next then?"

Aisha's long legs are wide open in welcome as you approach, your monstrous manhood bobbing between your legs, already leaking once more after you received another draught of aphrodisiac. Unlike Yiren, Aisha's meaty pussy was more than ready for you, her lower lips gaping, and her hole already drooling creamy fluids in anticipation for your dick. You press your tip against her entrance, but it keeps slipping upwards, grinding against her hooded clit as it penetrates the air above her belly. Aisha laughs at your frustration, but is as eager as you are to fuck, so she guides you inside of her; though she does tease you remorselessly as she does so. Her eyes roll back as your thick member pushes inside of her, and she lets out a sultry groan as you slowly stretch her out, her gushing folds slobbering all over your shaft as you fill her. The warmth of her body thrills you as you steadily shove yourself deeper into Aisha, and it only stops when you are nearly all the way in, no matter how hard you press against her completely expanded cunt. Aisha pokes at herself just beneath her ribcage, and gives you an impressed look, "Fuck, I don't think you can go any deeper," she pauses for a moment, before a salacious smile crosses her face, "This is going to be fun..."

You had never been active with a woman before, so to say your technique was terrible would be an understatement. You clumsily adjusted your bodyweight as you awkwardly attempted to thrust into Aisha, your motions tentative as you don't want to injure her with your colossal cock. But Aisha is not Yiren, and after a few minutes of fumbling she sighs and gives you an encouraging pat on the cheek, "I'm not fragile you know, be as rough as you'd like," So you stop holding back, and attempt to put more weight behind your movement, making her gasp every time you hit deepest spot, but it still isn't enough. Aisha slaps you, "I said, be rough, virgin," she hisses up at you, and adrenaline surges through at this shaming. You pull all the way back until the flare of your cockhead touches her entrance, before viciously slamming your entire length into her. Aisha's eyes balloon, and she gulps dangerously before stabilizing, her entire body quivering from the violence of your insertion; her lips spread into a wicked grin, "Good boy... just, like, that!" With her greedy cunt wrapping itself as tightly around you as it can, you vigorously plow the idol into the bed, making the sensuous slut grunt like an animal as you pound her insides out of shape. Aisha climaxes repeatedly, dousing your crotch with vast quantities of squirt that eventually transforms into almost continuous pissing as she completely loses control of her bladder.

The puddle soaking into the soggy sheets only grows as you actively fuck a woman for the first time in your life, reveling in the cramped warmth you are forcing your member into. Her lower lips sputter noisily as the pressure from your fucking causes steamy air to rush out of her hole, and her butt palpitates weakly as her guts are pistoned. Aisha seems to be enjoying it as much as you are, holding tightly onto Onda's hand, who gives you curiously furious glances as she attempts to needlessly sooth her friend. The other two members of your audience are busy chattering away as they watch you rutting with Aisha, with both EU and Mia fondling the site of yours and Aisha's joining, "Fuck, look how deep he is!" "Wow, good thing we cleaned our asses out before this, Aisha's is wide open!" "Literally fucking the guts out of her!" "I wonder if I could fit him all..." "You can't get knocked up through your butt, Mia!" "Eh, just scoop it out and shove it in my cunt." "Gladly! Hmm I wonder..."

Aisha gasps beneath you suddenly, and you feel someone's narrow arm pressing up against your balls, as Aisha's pussy abruptly clamps down on your cock like a vice, "Fuck... they're in my ass," she manages through gritted teeth before spasming once more as she messily orgasms all over your crotch. The squelching stimulation of the idol's cunt already had you on the edge, but the arousing realization that the sultry Aisha was getting anally fisted while you were stretching her out was too much for you to handle. Your strokes grow long and deep, as you instinctively seek to force your cock as deep as possible inside of her before planting your seed in her belly. Helping hands urge your swaying balls upwards, as Aisha's lithe legs lock tightly and around your waist, ensuring there would be no pulling out even if you wanted to. She cups your cheeks and nods encouragingly, growling lustfully for you to knock her up as the bulge your tip is making pulsates almost between her perky breasts. You groan as pleasure surges up your shaft and spills into Aisha, whose eyes roll back from the perverse stimulation of being impregnated, her entire body quivering as it takes your semen. Much like with Yiren, your cock is forced back out by the immensity of your load, but unlike with the previous idol, Aisha was capacious enough to take it all without to much trouble; and she is left looking smug when you finally stop shuddering with your cock only halfway out of her.

Aisha's pussy makes disgustingly sloppy noises when you pull out of it, as she lays back and idly strokes her stomach, "Ugh, I am so fucking sore," she lifts her head up to look at you, "Thanks for the fuck though, and the baby I guess," before laughing painfully. Her cunt gapes lewdly, drenched with piss and sexual fluids, palpitating as its owner breathes heavily, thoroughly inseminated. EU curls up against her, the pair whispering conspiratorially while Onda holds Aisha's head in her lap, glaring irritably at you. Mia drags your attention away from the somewhat endearing tableau, by returning with a familiar purple bottle, and teasingly opening your mouth to feed you some of the aphrodisiac by hand. Once she was satisfied you had swallowed enough to give her a properly potent load, the idol promptly bends over and spreads her cheeks for you; calling over EU to lube her up. The pervert responds with gusto, sloppily eating out Mia's asshole while you watch with cock in hand, shoving her tongue as deep as possible inside of her friend while she moans with pleasure. Eventually, Mia musters up enough energy to swat EU away, laughingly telling her, "No, actually get some lube you idiot! I'm going to need more than spit to take... that," she says, glaring meaningfully at your monstrous member.

EU proceeds to empty nearly an entire bottle of lubricant into Mia's butt, squeezing it until her guts were awash, before using the remaining fluids to lather your cock. You shudder as her tiny hand skillfully stroke your thick meat, working it until it was bulging at full length and ready to fill her friend. Wearing a nasty smile, EU guides you to the other idol, who was waiting patiently with her anus gaping in soggy welcome. Your bulbous cockhead slowly forces Mia's asshole wider, causing her to stiffen as you gradually strain the flesh around it, until with a sudden push you were inside. Mia's legs spasm, and she almost collapses from the entrance of your colossal manhood, but she catches herself and looks back at you in amusement, "Wow, you are thick, I won't be able to sit down after this!" You deliberately work yourself deeper inside of her, the tight coils of her ass wrapping themselves around your shaft far differently than the soft folds of Aisha and Yiren's pussies had. You groan in amazement as you grasp her petite waist, watching inch after inch of your cock disappearing inside Mia, until finally your weighty balls kiss her drooling slit. The idol gurgles in triumph, her toes twitching as she clutches at her belly, moaning in pained pleasure as she struggles to deal with the massive spear of flesh impaling her guts. You were finally balls-deep inside of a woman.

Trembling, you pull out until most of your glistening length is revealed before shoving yourself all the way inside once more. When you had first entered Mia, you had had to slowly press through several interior sphincters, but now you simply blew through all of them. Mia promptly pisses on the bed as she nearly passes out from the trauma, her breath hiking dangerously until Sihyeon sprints over with a trashcan; just in the nick of time. Mia vomits spectacularly into the black trash bag, heaving with every thrust as you find yourself unable to stop from pleasuring your cock with her innards. Not that any of the idols seemed inclined to stop you from violating her during her vulnerable moment, and the lady herself seemed to be furiously masturbating the entire time. The soft flesh of her asscheeks pressing against your crotch while your entire shaft was inside of her warm body was intoxicating, you were starting to see why everyone loved doggy position so much. Mia quivers uncontrollably as you force her insides out of shape, brutally pounding away at her body, impossibly deep inside of her but she still does not tap out. Instead she continues to climax, groaning as she indulges in one of her more extreme fetishes; you only wish you could see her face as she gruntingly urges you on. Soon the stimulation from having your entire length pleasured has your balls throbbing once more, which does not go unnoticed by the experienced slut, "You! Cum in," she growls through gritted teeth, "my, cunt!" But as the moment fast approaches you find yourself unable to resist Mia's sloppy asshole...

Luckily, Everglow were not about to waste one of your loads inside Mia's intestines, even if EU seemed more than happy to scoop it out into her cunt, and EU and Sihyeon promptly haul Mia off of your cock. What looks to be a decent portion of the idol's asshole follows you out, a spasming pink tube that gapes uselessly as it strains to pull itself back inside of its owner's body. Your dick twitches mournfully as it leaves the warm confines of Mia's anus, and your hands grasp at the air in surprise, until the pair promptly yank Mia back up; except this time they make sure that your member enters the lower hole. You and Mia both gasp as your filthy cock slams into her unprepared pussy, filling her only to only half your length, but it was enough to drag the semen up from your balls. Groaning, you fuck Mia's cunt as best you can as rope after rope of cum spews inside of her, but you are surprised to discover that your cock is not forced back by the sheer volume of sperm inundating her. Mia looks back at you, drooling as she proudly gurgles, "Fuck, my womb is so full..." Evidently Mia's cervix had been loosened by excessive use, and you can already feel yourself stiffening slightly at the thought of violating her most sacred place. The idol laughs as she feels it, "Hit me up in a week or something, I want to try getting my guts filled up until I'm puking your cum," she pauses thoughtfully, "We can try fitting you into my womb as well, but you won't get much inside."

You leave Mia laying there on the bed after promising to call her, blandly trying to shove the prolapsed length of her guts back where it belonged with little success; and hopefully with a well-fertilized egg attached to her ravaged womb. Which of course, still left half of Everglow to impregnate, and so you look around to find your next partner. Sihyeon was busy bustling around looking for Twice's special sauce, while EU was having a hilarious time playing with Mia's blown-out anus, and Onda... Onda was still busy soothing Aisha, but the moment she notices your attention she makes a break for it, going nearly horizontal as she scrambles to get off the bed. The other girls howl in outrage as they notice her attempting to escape, but Aisha is quick to grasp her ankle, and Onda plows a furrow through the sheets as she faceplants onto the mattress. EU and Sihyeon scuttle over, and are soon locked in a vicious melee as the recalcitrant idol attempts to fight them off. Aisha and Mia exhaustedly haul themselves closer to assist in pinning her down, and soon Onda is on her back with her legs painfully forced open. Who wails like the damned as you position yourself in front of her and receive your usual draught, her eyes boggling at the stupendous sight of your gargantuan cock twitching so close to her sex. The rest of Everglow roll their eyes at her dramatic behavior in exasperation, evidently they were used to this.

"Onda, just relax okay- ouch! She bit me!" Mia hisses in pain and Onda struggles to free her arm from the annoyed idol's grasp. "Ow, watch it!" "Can someone please grab their panties?" "Mine are covered in piss..." "Whatever, just shove it in her mouth!" "Mmmmmppphh!" Onda screams through the stinking fabric, struggling mightily to escape to little avail. "Maybe if you actually did some stretching exercises, you wouldn't be so worried," Aisha shakes her head indulgently, "Seriously," EU pipes in, "If Yiren's pampered pussy can take it, yours can too!" Onda merely whines pitifully as the rest of Everglow vent themselves a little bit, before remembering you were right there. At their urging, you hesitantly move between Onda's legs, you really didn't want to hurt the poor girl, even if the other girls were acting so callous about it. So you cautiously put your tip against her neat lips and start gently pushing.

You could not get it in. You started applying more and more pressure, but Onda's pussy was simply unable to stretch wide enough to accommodate even your tip, even as you start to put your entire body-weight into it. Urine sprays wildly over all of you as Onda's bladder lets loose in an animalistic defensive response, futilely pissing on you in an attempt to drive you away as she writhes beneath you. Eventually you are forced to stop, your frustration growing as you find yourself once more unable to enter a girl due to the massive size of your manhood; idols were supposed to be able to handle you! Luckily, like most idols, Everglow knew how to help a girl along, and quickly get to work loosening Onda up while Sihyeon entertains you. She sucks your tip and strokes your shaft, kissing up and down your length while behind her the trio are hard at work ravishing Onda's erogenous zones and gradually stretching out her cramped entrance. Once the faux-virgin had been suitably loosened up, the girls urge you to try again, and this time the initial portion of your tip makes some headway before coming to stop. Onda practically chews through her gag as she wriggles, trying to escape her coming impalement but unable to do so with three girls pinning her down. Only when Sihyeon presses herself against you, and adds her bodyweight to your own, does your cockhead finally pop inside of Onda before almost immediately hitting her limit.

Onda shrieks bloody murder and goes berserk, clawing at the bed in a frenzy before exhaustion takes hold and she moans piteously, her hips quivering. Her pussy was even tighter than Yiren's, almost crushing your tip as it sought to expel it from her cramped canal, and you could barely fit any more of your dick inside of her. Unable to properly stimulate your manhood, you are reduced to awkwardly fucking the few inches of pussy that you could; this might take a while... Or it would if Everglow were a bunch of squealing virgins, which they weren't (no matter how much Onda tried to pretend), and leaving AIsha to keep Onda's arms down, the other three start to skillfully work your load out. Mia plies your balls and taint with her tongue, urging your sack upwards, while EU and Sihyeon kiss you and rhythmically stroke your shaft until you can almost believe that you are fucking Onda. While not the most intimate sex you've had today, having four beautiful idols all pleasuring you was far from unpleasant, and you enjoy fondling them while they do so. You are surprised at how smooth and supple their bodies are, you should have been feeling them up from the start! Your excitement builds, and soon a familiar warmth is coursing down your shaft, you groan as you feel your load pour into the helpless Onda, whose tight cunt struggles to contain the semen pouring into it. The idol thrashes around, her eyes widening with horror as a bulge starts to show in her belly, spit foaming from her lips while she howls through her gag. Abruptly, Onda stops moving, her eyes roll back, and she promptly passes out, even as her pussy continues to slowly expand with buttery cum.

It takes some effort to extract the small portion of your cock from Onda's snug cunt, but once you remove yourself, it only gapes for a few moments before closing until it was at its original diameter. Aisha curls up with the unconscious idol, reversing their roles as she now tenderly cares for Onda like she had for Aisha. Mia meanwhile sprawls loosely on the bed, she was already tired after getting her guts rearranged, and having to help with Onda's impregnation had sapped what energy remained. Sihyeon meanwhile wanders out, politely excusing herself before leaving; only for a short while though she insists. EU pulls your attention away from the other girls by kissing you passionately, hungrily forcing her tongue down your throat and pressing her petite body against yours. Your cock is squished between your sweaty bodies, the tip nestled between her perky breasts while you gleefully grope her soft butt. EU growls between kisses, "I want it. I want you so fucking bad," she moves down to your neck, latching on like a lamprey and leaving her mark on your skin. She plants kisses as she winds down to your nipples, sucking and teasing them until she is satisfied before slobbering all over your cockhead. EU's face is flushed with excitement as she gives you a nasty grin, "Hey, gotta piss?"

You realize with a start that you are indeed in need of a lengthy bathroom break, but before you can excuse yourself the pervert idol offers you an easy solution. "Why don't you just piss in my ass then," EU smirks, "Or wherever you like, really. I am down for... anything" she purrs, drawing out the last word seductively, as she demurely looks up at you. She rises once more and nibbles on your ear, eager to corrupt you, "And by anything, I mean it. Wanna fill my throat with your cock, rape my ass until I scream, plow me until I break, make me eat your filthy ass out, piss in my mouth until I puke it out, roleplay as your cute little sister? C'mon, c'mon! Let's make it nasty," Her eyes gleam with excitement as she slowly pries your most depraved fantasies out of you, things you had always wanted to do with a naughty girl but never had. EU giggles maniacally as she sees your depraved urges win over, licking your cheek as she asks, "So, where are you pissing then, baby?"

EU looks excitedly up at you, her mouth wide open with her fingers prying her cutesy cheeks even wider, her tongue sticking straight out. The initial stream of urine splashes over her face before you can zero in on her mouth, which steadily fills with yellow fluid until she swallows it with a gulp. But EU's mouth starts filling up a moment later, and her throat bobs steadily as she does her best to swallow every last drop of your urine. Her gag reflex suddenly catches, and she coughs your latest load of piss up, leaning back as you continue to shower her with stinking liquid until she is soaked in it. EU looks smug as your bladder finally finishes emptying itself, licking her lips clean, "So how did you like using an idol like a piss-rag?" She grins sleazily as your manhood bulges in answer, rubbing her slit that was dripping with more than just urine, "Fuck I want it inside of me so bad..." EU scrambles up and forces you back down to your knees before straddling you like a monkey, rubbing her drooling cunt against your cockhead, moaning eagerly. You had thought the smallest member of Everglow would be even more difficult to penetrate than Onda, but instead your dick slips inside of EU as easily as it had into Aisha. Both of your eyes widen as a bulge slowly travels up her stomach until it nestles between her tits, and you realize that almost the entirety of your cock was buried inside of the petite idol. EU smirks, and voluntarily pisses on your crotch in celebration, "I told you I make a good fleshlight..."

You groan loudly as you use EU like a cheap sex toy, her legs wrapped tightly around your waist, her toned body light enough to lift with ease as you slam it down your length again and again. The perverted idol squirts repeatedly as you pound her innards out of shape, gasping and squealing as her surprisingly stretchable pussy devours your monstrous cock. "Breakmebreakmebreakmebreakme-" she wails as her tongue lolls, her tummy bulging obscenely as your dick forces its way through her insides, and loving every second of it. Moaning, you continue to pleasure yourself with the petite girl, churning her sloshing stomach with every thrust until a hint of panic enters her eyes, and she hurriedly motions for you to turn her around. So you drop her, and she squirms off your cock, looking around desperately for support, and a queasy-looking Yiren crawls over dragging the trashcan. EU gratefully opens her mouth to say thanks, but instead of gratitude, partially-digested piss spews out of it, and only most of it makes it inside of the bin. Yiren grimaces and curses in disgust at the sight, while you are treated to the far more arousing display of EU's sloppy cervix forcing its way out of her gaping cunt, her womb prolapsing itself.

So of course you take EU from behind, even with her head buried in a trashcan, shoving her womb back into place and sending fresh convulsions through her with every thrust. Her pussy spasms around your cock every time she retches, squeezing your cock in new and interesting ways, while she squirts and pisses all over the sheets. Yiren scowls at your indecorous display of lust, but the stench coming from the bin gets to her too, and she unhappily joins her fellow idol in noisily venting her stomach. Once she has finished filling the trashcan with a frothing mess, EU looks back at you with an exhausted yet ecstatic gleam in her eyes, "You literally fucked your piss out of me," she gurgles happily, "fuck, it feels like you're breaking me in half!" a shudder runs through her as she climaxes once more, "C'mon, make me your fleshlight, ruin me, I'm your toy!" Groaning you hoist the petite idol up and do just that, viciously slamming her down onto your gargantuan cock as your muscles burn with adrenaline. EU's tiny body shudders with pleasure as it is abused beyond its limits, the perverted slut unable to do anything other than orgasm and beg for more, your dick so deep inside of her it nearly is coming out of her throat.

You had always destroyed your plastic fleshlights when you finally came, so it only made sense that you were doing the same to your first flesh-and-blood fleshlight as well. EU's arms flail as the supreme moment approaches, burbling eagerly in anticipation of your massive load; while your thrusts grow long and deep. She babbles happily as her cunt quivers around your length, urging you to pump her full of seed, to put your baby in her tiny belly. "Breedmebreedmebreedme!" EU squeals as she feels your shaft pulsating, and her cries grow higher in pitch as your load erupts inside of her stretched out pussy, drooling uncontrollably as she climaxes from the sheer pleasure of being bred. The petite idol shudders, impaled upon your cock as your seed pours into her ravaged hole, unable to escape and unwilling to do so. You groan as rope after rope spews into EU slowly filling her until your cock was mostly outside of her and you were forced to drop her onto her hands and knees; whereupon she promptly collapses in a soggy puddle of fluids and piss. With a disgusting plop, you pull out of her pussy, which sputters foully as your thinner seed and precum leaks out of her blown out cunt. EU strokes her distended stomach and coos, "I-I'm gonna have a baby! Sorry," she gurgles as she starts to pass out, "your mom is a pervert..."

As exhausted as the rest of Everglow after your frantic sex with EU, you collapse back onto the bed, your chest heaving as you try and recover from your exertions. Whereupon Sihyeon returns, cheerfully waving her knee-support, "Okay, I found it everyone! Did I miss much?" She takes in the situation, Yiren with her face buried in the trashcan, still heaving, and EU, with her creampied cunt gaping wide open and passed out in a puddle of her own piss and cum; and doesn't even blink. She beams as she notes the thoroughly inseminated state of EU's pussy, and kindly rubs Yiren's back before hauling her out of the trashbin and onto the bed, where she groans and clutches at her stomach. Only then does Siyheon plop down next to you with a smile, "Well it's my turn now, isn't it?" she rummages around in the tangled sheets until she pulls out the bottle of aphrodisiac, giving it an experimental shake before giving you a quizzical look, "EU did give you some before you bred her, right?" she sighs as you tiredly think about it, "Oh well, you can just come back next week and try it again, and I'm sure Mia wouldn't mind getting some sex in as well," she pats your cheek affectionately, "but it's our turn now, so let's put a baby in my belly!" with that she carefully gives you a hefty draught of purple liquid, before smooching you gently.

Unlike the previous member of Everglow, Sihyeon seems content to take her time with things, and lavishes you with attention as she slowly nurses your cock to full length. She gives you kisses aplenty, as well as intimate cuddles while she gingerly strokes your shaft, working the blood back into it with surprising care. Sihyeon urges you to relax and regain your energy, massaging you with her hands, kneading your flesh, and licking and sucking upon your erogenous zones, but always making sure to return to press her lips against yours. Slowly but surely, your erection returns, and with it your arousal, which you can only partially slake by exploring Sihyeon's body as thoroughly as she was working yours; squeezing her modest breasts and rubbing her butt. The idol is visibly pleased to see your lust returning, but is still firmly insistent that she initially set the pace, to make sure you do not strain yourself unduly before finishing. Sihyeon raises your cock skywards once more, and like Aisha before her, attempts to squat awkwardly atop it before grimacing as her knee spasms; even with her brace she could not put too much pressure on it. So instead she leans it back downwards and straddles your chest, her stomach pressed against your face, and mounts it horizontally instead, sliding slowly down your body until your monstrous member is all the way in her.

Sihyeon looks somewhat self-conscious as she sits atop your crotch, as if waiting for criticism, but you are at a loss as to why until you realize the sheer mundanity of the situation. Sihyeon had taken your entire gargantuan dick without any trouble at all, she was not wailing in pain, pissing herself uncontrollably, or puking her guts out; instead she was seated calmly atop it, faintly embarrassed but otherwise without distress. What was most striking though was how different her pussy felt, its soft folds cradled your cock, instead of attempting to crush your dick as it was stretched out; was this how ordinary sex felt like? Sihyeon coughs awkwardly, "I hope you don't mind, I'm a little... looser than the other girls" rocking slowly atop your cock as you rush to assure her that you were more than satisfied with her pussy. She flushes slightly, "Well then, let's get started, shall we?" With that Sihyeon starts to ride you, unable to get much height into her bounces due to her knee, she still manages to get enough movement in to stimulate your cock. You let out a moan as her fleshy insides massage your shaft, softly pleasuring you with its heat and wetness as much as its tender pressure.

Your lovemaking was relaxed and intimate, with your hands around Sihyeon's waist guiding her down your length, while she alternatively groped herself or ran her hands down your chest. When the idol finally climaxes, it is with little fanfare, she simply moans and jerkily grinds on your cock for a few moments as her pussy spasms around your member; you were pleasantly surprised to not get showered with urine for once. Sighing languidly, Sihyeon's eyes flicker open and she gives you a flirtatious smile, "Want to be on top this time, how would you like me?" You were tempted to take her in doggy, but with the intimate mood of the sex, there really was only one position to choose... Sihyeon giggles shyly at your answer, and leans back, smoothly pulling you on top of her as she goes so that you end up in missionary. She hikes her hips upwards and wraps her legs around your shoulders, ensuring you would be able to reach as deep as possible inside of her, "I haven't done mating press in a while," she muses as you position yourself atop her thighs and start thrusting. Now on top, you were able to maintain a steady rhythm, almost bouncing on top of Sihyeon as you dragged most of your length out of her before slamming it back into her capacious pussy. The idol seems mostly untroubled by your vigorous thrusts, smiling knowingly as she kindly urges you on, your faces only inches apart as you make love. Her soft folds lavish your shaft with moist warmth, pulling you deep inside of her again and again as your hefty balls slap against her asshole. Sihyeon's eyes widen as your pace quickens, and her pussy tightens noticeably around your manhood to spur you on, "Yes," she gasps, "just relax, let it all out, that's it..." You groan and kiss her as heat surges up through your shaft, melting into her as the turgid warmth of your seed spills into her belly.

You thrust gently as your balls empty themselves into Sihyeon's fertile pussy, staying hilt-deep inside of her as your semen gradually floods into her hole that stretches ever deeper to accommodate your load. You both shudder in the afterglow of sex, pleased by the comfortable normality of the sex that was usually far from ordinary, relishing in the warmth of one another's' bodies. Eventually you recover enough to gingerly unstick yourself from her, the sweat from your passionate coupling having fused your skin together. Sihyeon sluggishly rubs her stomach, "There is so much in me," she marvels wearily, "I think I might have just gotten knocked up..." She gives your hand a loving squeeze and you take the hint to pull out, and crosses her legs behind you to seal your seed inside of her; she was making absolutely sure her egg would get fertilized. Sihyeon glances around, visually collecting the other members; EU was still passed out in the puddle of fluids, Aisha and Onda were curled up together napping, Yiren had fallen asleep not far from them, and Mia was noisily pissing in the trashcan. Sighing, she gives you a sleepy smile, "Well, thank you for stopping by and impregnating us all, and do remember to come back in a week to make sure EU actually got bred! Ummm," she pauses thoughtfully, "I guess we can discuss parentage stuff later? Don't worry too much about it though, we will be putting Forever down on the bitch certificate," she winks knowingly, before awkwardly waving goodbye, "So, see you in a week, and hopefully at our next fanmeets!"

As you leave, Mia glances up at you, still shamelessly squatting over the trashbin, and gives you an enticing smirk, "Try to save up until then, you can fuck me after you finish plowing that pervert full of cum again," You blush at this crass statement, but know that more likely than not you would follow her sordid request. Once you leave the room, you are politely escorted out of the building and bundled into a waiting car, which takes you directly back to Jihyo's lair in the JYPE building. Once there, the matriarch herself quizzes you intensely on what occurred, nodding approvingly as you relate how exactly you had creampied each member of Everglow; her nose wrinkles with faint disgust at times, but she remains encouraging throughout. After a solid hour of debriefing, she insists that you help yourself to a hearty meal, and kindly reminds you to drink lots of water, before assigning you a room near hers for the night; she wanted to make sure you recovered without an overnight interruption. You fall asleep in the luxurious covers, exhausted, yet pleased by your performance, it was not everyday that you got to lose your virginity to one of your favorite idol groups, let alone impregnate each and every one of them...

You gradually awaken, aware as always of the colossal weight of your morning wood resting against your chest, but was surprised by the additional heaviness of another person as well. Your startled motion awakens your curvaceous bed-partner, who languidly sits up, stretching before giving you a motherly smile, "Good morning, dear," Jihyo says with a kindly yet hungry gleam in her eyes, "Now it's time for mommy to enjoy herself as well..." she purrs as she leans down to kiss you.

You might have a massive cock, but that didn't mean Jihyo couldn't have you begging for mercy within minutes...

#smut #kpop smut #everglow smut #aisha smut #e:u smut #mia smut #onda smut #sihyeon smut #yiren smut #Everglow fanfic

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thegnomelord · 6 months ago

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CH 3: Hold Your Demons Close Maybe Then You'll Feel Something

CW:NSFW blood, gore, mutilation, killing, cannon typical violence, child abuse (it's minor but still there), drugging, military inaccuracies, Mage reader, Monster cod AU, poly141, eventual poly141 X reader, reader isn't a good person, a few masc terms used but overall gn.

Ao3; Word count: 19.1k (It's a heckin chonker) Big thanks for @rodolfoparras and @princeguri66 for betaing for me, love you guys!

Masterlist; Chapter 2 <-Chapter 3 (You are here) -> Chapter 4

Aisha remembers the day she thought she would die.

As a gift for the 10th birthday her mother had taken her to the market in the big city. It had been chaotic compared to their little village, so many people donkey carts, and mopeds moving around like crazy ants in a freshly exposed nest. Aisha had gotten lost, swept away by the time of movement, and ended up at the entrance of a shady alley where she'd stumbled on an old beggar woman.

Long as she lives she will never forget the sight of the woman. Strip her of flesh and blood and the memory will still be etched into her bones — of ghostly blue lines forming impregnable chains across sunken sunburned skin. Of dirty rags loosely hanging off skeleton thin shoulders. Of blood crusted bandages wrapped tightly around her shaved head to not scare the children running about, the cloth dipping into the eyeless sockets of her skull. Of her asking passerby for alms with the handless stumps of her arms.

The sight alone had frightened Aisha, but then the beggar had turned her head to Aisha as if she could hear the frantic beating of her heart. A sad saccharine croon left the mage woman's chapped lips as she looked right at her. "Hello, fellow daughter of Magnus."

Her mother found her then, pulling Aisha back while shouting at the woman at the top of her lungs. Aisha's mind had been too full of thoughts to notice her mother drop their shopping in favor of scurrying out of the market with Aisha in hand. She had only snapped back to reality when her mother had thrown Aisha into her father’s rusted little car, barely able to sit up straight before they were driving home to their village as fast as the car’s geriatric engine could go.

Aisha had been locked in the room she shared with her sisters, but the door did little to mute the way her parents argued all day long, accusations of infidelity and cursed bloodlines thrown around like bird feed. Most of it flew over her head, but Aisha had understood one thing: Her parents were afraid.

The strange men came to her house just as the sun had set, drawn out by the dying light like coyotes hunting for a stray lamb. The strong stench of rot heralding their arrival made her sputter to hold back the bile burning her throat. She remembers the sparks of yellow and red and blue and all the other stolen colors of the rainbow swirling in their cold eyes.

They chatted while inspecting her like a cow in the market, their language just as rough and hard as their hands. But they lost interest quickly, unable to find what they wanted to see. They turned to throw lecherous looks at her mother and older sisters before her father had stepped between them and her, protecting his daughter now that he knew Aisha wasn't a freak. He'd tensely asked them to leave after paying for their time, standing in the doorway and only going back inside when the strange men were well and truly out of sight.

Her parents let them in without complaint; Her father held her down, his steely gaze watching the men crowd her. Her mother whispered trembling words into her ear to just be a good girl as the men tore her shirt off. Aisha's questions and pleas and panic fell on deaf ears, her mother pressing a worn hand over her mouth to silence her cries as the men inspected her chest and arms. They pinched and pulled on her skin with hands scarred like gnarled tree bark, the roughness of their palms chafing her soft flesh.

Aisha remembers the days she thought she would die.

Waking up each day to wash under her mother's stalwart gaze so she could ensure Magnus hadn't sown seeds into Aisha's body while she slept. Going each week to the village elders to drink the special brew of Morgana's tears, spending agonizing hours curled up and sobbing on the floor with a stabbing pain in her chest, her heart beating like the wings of a snared bird as the poison made its way through her system. She'd lost count how many times her heart would stutter after every bout of joy or childish argument on the rare moments the children of the village would interact with her — any lick of emotion would force her to run home to check the pads of her fingers in fear that this time magic had cracked through her skin.

She had been so happy on her 15th birthday — the danger had passed. She wasn’t a mage. She could finally live a normal life, meet a boy, get married, have a family.

She’s 16 now. All those years of worry and fear feel like childhood bliss.

Aisha knows she will die.

It happened so suddenly; When her friend had jokingly rubbed a feather duster in her face, Aisha would have never expected a stupid sneeze to force liquid frost through her fingers. Pain had raced through her chest at the speed of lightning, an unknown force pulling her arms up, and the next thing she knew she had frozen over her neighbor's entire crop field. Aisha had barely heard her friend scream over the pounding in her ears, her legs moving on their own long before her brain could understand the pain in her hands or what she had done.

Her mind might still have been reeling, but her body understood she needed to run, needed to hide, before the sun fell and the coyotes came for her.

The house she's found to hide in is one of the many corpses the Russians left behind, stripped bare to rotting wood bones and crumbling bricks, moldy wall paper peeling in long thick strips and rickety boards creaking under the slightest pressure. Gravel crunches beneath heavy tires outside the decrepit house and a rumbling engine cuts through the silence. Aisha scrambles up the stairs to the second floor, hiding in a dingy closet with it's walls closing in around her like the sides of a cramped coffin. Termite made holes in the closet door act as peepholes, letting her see into the bedroom and watch the long shadows created by the car's lights stretch across the floor.

She bites her lip as the slightest twitch of her pinky finger makes pain bloom across her entire hand, though she's barely able to move her fingers with how stiff they are. Her tan skin bellow the wrists is corpse pale and cold, blood crusting the creases of her knuckles. The creaking of floorboards has Aisha hastily pressing her ice cold hands against her lips, the taste of her blood — copper and iron with a hint of something sweet like antifreeze — failing to churn her stomach when even the hint of slowly encroaching rot has her heart clogging her throat so not even a whimper can make it past her lips.

She’s sure her lungs stop working when a man crosses the threshold into the room, and immediately she’s hit with such a strong smell of decay, like death had crawled up her nose and died there. Her throat and chest spasm with the need to cough, tears freely running down her cheeks from how much effort it takes to keep quiet, but past her blurry vision she can see the man slowly walk into the room.

He’s tall and gangly like a newborn foal, bulky clothes widening his frame that’s mostly skin and bones, thinning blond hair badly swept over a sizable bald spot. He wouldn’t be so scary if his eyes didn’t glow an unnatural mixture of toxic green and burning red— the sight alone has goosebumps spreading across his skin, followed by a deep seated discomfort as if leeches are crawling inside her bones.

“Come out little girl,” Even his voice feels wrong, like glass ground on sandpaper, but he speaks with so much sweetness it’s disgusting. “We only want to talk to you, don’t worry you’re not in trouble.” She can tell he’s not from Urzikstan by the rough accent that muddles the Arabic words he speaks.

The floorboards creak softly as she shifts. His head swivels to look around the room and the man quickly walks over to the bed, dropping to his knees to look under it. “Fuck!” His facade falls as he snarls when he sees she’s not there, stumbling to his feet like a drunk. “I mean uh- don’t worry I’m not mad kid,” He chuckles lightly, trying to put on an act of a worried Samaritan, though the attempt falls short when his predatory eyes fall on the closet she’s hiding in.

“Hey, did you find her yet?” Another voice rings from the entrance of the room, this one feminine and with a slight drawl to her words as she speaks in english. It makes Aisha jump, though the squeaking boards beneath her go unnoticed when the new voice continues. “Boss is starting to get antsy and if we don’t find her soon he’ll be sticking your ass with the pigs.”

She can’t see well, but she’s certain the man shows a middle finger to the unseen person. “Fuck off,” He spits out the response like it’s a mouthful of poison, “We both know you’re the dead weight.” He says, taking a few steps around the bed, but luckily for Aisha he stops in the middle of the room. Aisha can hear how deeply he breathes in, before something catches in his throat and he coughs. “I can smell the magic, the wench is still in the house.”

“Bullshit.” The woman scoffs, “You say that every hunt and we end up wasting our time.” A moment passes before the unseen woman chuckles and adds. “You couldn’t smell shit if you shoved your head up your ass!”

The man openly seethes, quick and heavy footsteps carrying him right up to the woman and out of Aisha’s field of view. “You take that back you fucking bitch!” The snarl is more animal than man. Aisha can only assume he punches the woman from the way the floorboards groan loudly in the otherwise silent night, shoes scuffing on the floor, grunts and swears filling the air as the noises of fighting steadily recede to another room.

She’s light headed by the time she manages to pull her hands away from her mouth enough to draw in a breath of stale air, her lungs burning from how long she had gone without breathing. Her heart drums loudly in her skull, her ears pricked to listen to the two strangers exchange angry words in a language she doesn't understand, each passing second of the continuing scuffle making confidence slowly form in her mind.

This is her chance!

. . . to do what?

She doubts she could take them on, she's pretty sure she saw a gun hanging off the man's waist, and she definitely knows she won't be able to outrun them. She's stuck. Cornered.

“Whatever, you just fin-” The sound of footsteps once again nearing the room she's in forces her body to act without her input.

Fishhooks tug on her fingers and force them to splay out flat in the air despite the pain. Her mind scrambles to think of something, anything, before unseen hands pull her mouth open. A shaky breath escapes her lungs and before she knows it words are falling from her lips, so smooth and fluent like her mind is reading a script carved into her bones. “Oh harsh creatures of brutal winter, please, I need your help-” Something cold and sharp stabs behind her chest, more of her skin turning pale as magic slowly crawls down her arms.

It hurts —

Spiderweb cracks of broken glass spread across her knuckles and a fat drop of blood rolls down her chin from how tightly she bites her lip. Her blood beads through the cracks in her skin, the dark crimson turned a light pink by the freshly exposed white light that pulses beneath her skin like a living thing. Aisha sucks in a sharp breath before continuing, “- I beg you, give me a crumb of your power, a ball of silent snow to hide my life-” The more she speaks, the more the white light cracks through her skin until it cracks through the pads of her fingers and escapes as shoddily formed snowflakes.

They dance through the air like drunken fireflies before finding the right position and floating in the air. More of them spawn from each finger with every word spoken, taking their own place in an unknown pattern.

Slowly the overlapping snowflakes take on the shape of a scratchy circle, trembling lines forming a complex web of shapes inside it. The pain grows with it; it turns her fingers pale and numb as if she had stuck her hands in freezing water, the icy bite of frost spreading up her wrists. Her frozen skin cracks from even the slightest tremor in her hands, white speckles dancing in her crimson blood as it leaks down her palms. Each second taken to breathe and bite back a whimper disrupts the fragile collection of snowflakes, causing parts of the circle to break off and drop to the ground in big watery drops.

Her chest feels like it’s tightly packed with soaked wool, a type of pressure building behind her sternum, her shoulders stiff as her body is getting ready for. . . something good—

The closet door swings open with enough force to break it off its hinges. White light of the circle refracts off the gun aimed at her.

Bang!

A bullet tears through the magic circle and shatters it into pieces, all the pressure that had been building in her body rushing through the crumbling remains of the circle right back at her.

She screams and shakes, fat tears freely running down her cheek like the blood flowing from her palms. There’s not a single word in any language able to describe the pain rushing through her veins, the liquid agony infesting every cell — sharp and blunt and deep and gnawing, like her body is trying to eat itself, like she’s infested with maggots; the bullet that tears through her side feels like a soft mercy.

“Fucking moron!” She barely hears the woman snarl over the rush of blood in her ears. The gun aimed at her is roughly pushed down. “Are you trying to get the boss to take our heads?” The stench of rot only worsens it, disorientating her further and she’s barely able to make her fingers twitch. She’s got no defense from the rough hand that roughly grabs her by the hair and pulls her out of the closet.

“I’d rather not die from a first time mage!” The man yells, grabbing her by the shoulder. Aisha’s legs can’t support her weight no matter how much she tries, but the man is far stronger than she had expected and has no problem holding her up. Her lungs manage a pained sound before her arms are grabbed and painfully wrenched behind her back, handcuffs softly clicking as they’re tightened until the steel digs into her aching wrists.

“Oh so when I’m the one on the end of the damn spells it’s fine then?” The woman’s anger shows in the way her cracked nails dig into Aisha’s scalp and pull her head back like she's trying to take it off entirely. Aisha struggles to breathe, gasping and wriggling to the best of her ability but it’s useless and a second later a thick metal collar is tightened around her neck, rusted needles on the inside of it pricking her skin enough to draw blood.

It burns. The collar rapidly heats up like she's got a string of hot coals around her neck, the heat traveling down her skin to grip her heart in a vice. The collar is so tight she can’t even gasp, fresh adrenaline pouring through her veins as she tries to scramble out of the handcuffs, tries to shake out of their hold, tries to just get away. . . but she’s about as strong as a kitten.

“You’re expendable. The girl could make a better spell than you.” The man holding her shoulder laughs and pulls her away as soon as the woman lets go of her hair, all too happy to drag her like a sack of potatoes behind him. Each step down the stairs has the base of her spine awkwardly hitting the step, accosting her frazzled brain with even more pain.

“We got the girl, boss!” The man says triumphantly, pulling her up so she’s facing another man. Even with the tears blurring her vision, Aisha can tell the ‘boss’ isn’t from Urzikstan; He’s a pudgy little man with a wide flat nose and other features that don’t quite fit his face, but his eyes — they glow the same rainbow hue as the other two, with the same malice.

“Finally.” The boss huffs, not wasting a single second and pulling a knife from his pocket. A rough hand holds Aisha’s head so she can’t squirm away from the knife as it cuts across her cheek. Just that small cut feels like a gaping wound and a small whimper falls from her lips as the boss pulls the knife back, specks of white floating in the dark blood coating the metal. A black tongue slips from his lips to lick up the bloodied edge, the sight making her stomach curl with disgust.

Another hand grabs her cheek, cracked fingers like claws digging into the cut until blood flows over the man's fingers. The man holding her pulls his bloodied fingers into his mouth, humming. A second passes before he curses and spits at his feet. “There’s barely anything there,” He says, the hold he has on her tightening. “Barely worth the bullet.”

“Oh, that won’t be a problem.” The boss waves him off, sharp rainbow eyes looking her up and down. “Couple of grams from ol’ daddy Magnus and we’ll have ourselves a proper sow.” He reaches out to pat the top of her head, condescending — like she's just a dumb animal. “Alright, put it in the truck.” The boss orders and the man holding her complies, starting to drag her to the truck parked in front of the house.

Somehow, behind the the loud beating of her heart, she hears rumbling. Somehow, though her mind is like tangled yarn and she can barely grasp a thought, she feels something — an emotion that doesn't belong to her: Anger

Violent anger. Burning hot in the cold night, so all consuming it leaves the world around her trembling.

"Hold on-" The boss says suddenly, quickly raising his head to sniff the air. "Do you smell that?"

Tires screech against the rocky road, orange flames sparking from thin air as a motorcycle appears out of nowhere. Aisha only manages to get a glimpse of glowing orange eyes before she's blinded by bright light. She closes her eyes, heat washing over her body before she hears the head of the man holding her explode.

Shards of bone and brain matter rain down on her, sticking to her dark curly hair. The body stands for a second, unaware it no longer has a head as the charred stump of the neck steams. The body falls to the ground and takes Aisha with it, falling on top of her.

The elbow digs into her bleeding side, her eyes flying open as she struggles to get out from under the man, managing to push him off. Her gaze flies to the steaming charred stump where the head used to be. Panic rising she breathes in and oh god the smell — it’s an automatic response; Her stomach convulses and she pukes, bile burning her throat, retching and crying as the scent of her bile only makes it worse.

She feels heat rush over her and she doesn’t need to see to know your magic makes the other man and woman’s heads pop like grapes. Their bodies drop to the ground somewhere behind her, but what makes adrenaline rush through her is the soft sound of the motorcycle stand clicking against the ground.

Her head flies up to look, heart beating like a bird in the cage of her ribs; Dirt crunches beneath your boots but to her it sounds like breaking bones, steam rises off your body, the bright glow of your arms and the intense glare of your eyes behind the tinted lenses of your mask. . . it all gives the image of a demon — of something she needs to flee from.

If the people had been coyotes, then this person— no. . . the thing that had found her was a starved lion.

She tries to scramble back but it's useless when the smallest twitch of a muscle has her whimpering, blistering cold gnawing on every inch of her nerves.

You reach her in seconds, leaning down to grab her by the front of her clothes to pick her up like she weighs nothing. Your scent floods her nose, rot and just a small hint of sweetness, like honey poured on the floors of a burning charnel house. She tries to kick you but can barely move her toes, her legs just swaying uselessly beneath her. Your fingers, warm but not burning hot, hook under the steel wrapped around her neck.

Your jaw tenses, trying to remember how to speak. "Hold still." You order.

Your voice is soft. Not the velvet softness of her mothers', more akin to the smoothness of a tar pit right before it pulls a hapless creature into its inky depths. But you don't hurt her.

Metal screeches as the rusted steel bends like clay under your fingers. It only takes a few seconds before the collar clatters to the ground. The sudden release of pressure has Aisha gasping for breath so quickly she starts coughing and almost pukes but luckily her stomach is empty.

She doesn't feel you free her hands, the world spinning a thousand miles a minute before her eyes. She's forced to close her eyes shut in an attempt to fight back the nausea, rainbow spots crackling in the darkness of her vision.

Casually stepping over the corpse of the Devourer you sit her down on the hood of the truck, keeping a hand on her shoulder to make sure she doesn't fall face first to the ground. She shivers under your touch, trembling hands slowly raising to grip your wrist. You don't need magical sight to know an aborted spell is ravaging her insides; her fingertips turning black in front of your eyes and the specks of white dancing in her pupil is enough.

Judging by the way you can barely pick up the scent of mage standard rot on her, you can only assume she's a late bloomer. With a small huff you place your other hand on the middle of her chest, casting a simple circle at your palm.

Aisha gasps, fingers scrambling to try and pull your hand off, too numb with cold to register how the cooling lava making up your skin warms up. But it's like trying to move a mountain. You don't budge an inch. She can feel something inside her move, burning frost shepherded by blistering heat slinking down her fingers back into her heart, increasing speed with every inch it travels. She barely notices the aching in her side subsiding, or the sensation returning to her fingers.

You let go of the girl when you’re satisfied she won’t die from either blood loss or mana shock, leaving her to sit on the hood of the car as she looks dumbly at you.

The bullet loudly clatters on the steel hood. She turns her head and her eyes nearly pop out of her skull at the sight of her blood literally bleaching out of her clothes like it's being drawn back into her body. Letting go of your wrist she lifts her shirt, and there's not even a mark on her tan skin.

She’s no threat to you.

No sooner that you take a step away from her does Beelzebub's cold presence rush out of your heart with enough force to make you stumble back. People say it’s madness for a spell, a tool, to have personality. But the way black candlelight flames spark at your fingers and immediately rush out like a swarm of locusts to devour the three bodies is. . . it's angry. Vengeful As it should be. You can't fool yourself into thinking the way Beelzebub's magical fires eat away the Devourers hands before spreading over the rest of the body, crackling and buzzing like thousands of flies as they devour skin, then muscle, then bone until not even dust remains, is anything but vindictive.

Like erasing mistakes, it brings you a sense of satisfaction.

Your fingers twitch but you stop yourself from reaching up to trace the faint blue magic gluing your throat together. Instead, you focus on converting the mangled chunks of mana Beelzebub deposits in your chest into something you can use. Devours are a pain in the ass, so much different mana all twisted and held together with gum and staples, all of it now bashing against your ribs like wailing ghosts. With a huff you focus, the rock chunks on your arms getting wider and bigger as you store the stolen mana for later use, steam lazily rolling off your shoulders.

Aisha watches you, eyes wide, but. . . not scared. She doesn’t notice when she opens her mouth, her voice far too loud in the silent night. “Are you a jinn?” She asks, and cringes at her words. Of all the things she could have said, she chose that?

You don't know how you manage to open your mouth enough to answer. “No.” Beelzebub, satisfied as a hog in shit, burns on the ground for a few seconds in the shape of the bodies before seeping back into the earth, settling back to slumber in your heart.

You roll your shoulders. The slight bite of pain and the spasm of your muscles reminds you of the glass sticking out of your back. A grunt forces past your lips, more from annoyance than actual pain. A simple thought is enough to activate the magic you had cast on yourself, vestigial sparks flickering across your shoulders and boring a hole into your jacket. The edges glow brightly before they birth flames that eat away the bulletproof vest and the rest of your clothing until a sizable chunk of your back is exposed.

Aisha catches the edge of a small circle scribed atop your spine in the middle of your back, but her eyes are soon drawn to the mess of glass shards sticking out of your skin. There’s not a speck of blood in sight, but somehow that makes the sight more disturbing. Her gasp falls deaf on your ears, your mind more focused in trying to remove them.

Forcing your opposite hand to cool down enough so the heat doesn’t shatter the glass, you reach back as far as you can, trying to feel as best you can with your numb fingers. But your hands are stiff and unfeeling, making you fumble about like a bull in a china shop as you try to get one shard and miss. The only time you manage to grasp the sharp edge, you break it when you attempt to pull it out. A curse slips past your lips and you crush the broken piece between your fingers.

Aisha doesn’t know what possesses her, nothing good probably, but she speaks up. “Can I-” Your head turns to her so fast she startles, mouth snapping shut with an audible clack of her teeth. She can only stare at those burning eyes for a second before her animal brain forces her to look away, focusing on the gas mask portion of your mask because looking at your eyes feels wrong. But she powers through it, forcing herself to speak. “Can I help you?”

That was not what you expected.

“No.” You say, your head swiveling to glance at the road and then back up to the sky, a pulse of formless magic slipping past your fingers on instinct to ensure you’re covering all your bases as far as relative safety goes. You don’t see nor sense any form of life besides the girl, nor any mage magic save for the tracker in your pocket.

You hate to admit it, but the wraith was good. And so was the mage that made the tracker, it took you a good while until you had sensed the small piece of enchanted rock hidden in your pocket. You’re still unsure what you want to do with it, maybe you could somehow game the situation or send the monsters after you on a wild goose chase, so for now you’ve only isolated it with your magic instead of destroying it.

Aisha persists. “Please,” She grits her teeth, resisting the urge to shrink back when your eyes once again settle on her. “I- you helped me, I don’t want to hold debts.” There is a kind of determination in her eyes you know too well, the same kind Frosty had right before you and him—

If anyone asks or puts a gun to your head, you will blame this moment on many things — the fatigue, the side effects of using too much magic, the spiraling descent into lichdom, finally losing what dredges of sense you have in your no good skull; “Fine.”

You take careful steps towards her until your knees press against the bumper before turning your back to her, forcing her to spread her legs to accompany your body. You keep your body turned in a way that still keeps her in your periphery. Not that it matters. Even if she had a knife hidden on her person nothing short of 30/06 ammo could leave any damage you couldn’t immediately heal off.

Aisha hates the part of her that regrets her decision now that she's presented with the large array of glass sticking out of your skin. She reaches out like she would try to pet a wild dog, cold fingers gripping the sides of one piece, bracing her other hand on your back. She tries to wiggle it out, and though you keep yourself from hissing, your muscles still spasm around the sharp glass. “Sorry, sorry-”

“You’re fine rookie,” You grunt automatically. “Just yank it out.”

She sucks in a sharp breath and prepares herself like she’s the one with half a ton of glass using her as a pin cushion. But she does as you say before she can shy away from it. The glass slides out easily enough, glowing orange blood staining it. Her eyes go wide when the blood suddenly drips off the shard in one continuous stream until she’s holding a perfectly clean piece of glass. The blood lands on your back and slithers up your skin into the wound, repairing muscle and flesh until there’s not even a mark to indicate where the glass had pierced your skin.

“Are you like me?” She asks tentatively, mentally hitting herself for such a stupid question; of course you’re a mage, what is she even thinking? Hoping to escape the embarrassment she pulls another shard out of your back.

“You and I are mages.” You say simply, occasionally glancing to the road and sky before turning your attention back on the girl. It feels… strange. You don't remember the last time you've spoken with someone who didn't want anything from you. Someone who didn't want to use you. Kill you.

“Ye- yeah, I figured.” Aisha bites her lip, squinting her eyes. “Why… why did you save me?” She finally asks the question that had been plaguing her.

“I just did.” You shrug your shoulder, a small breath slipping past your clenched teeth as the motion makes the glass dig deeper into your shoulder.

Aisha’s shoulders fall, a frown tugging on her lips. She doesn’t know what she had expected. “Thank you.”

Her words make your head turn to look at her fully, “Why?”

“Why not?” Another chunk of glass falls to the ground, “You saved me from. . . them. You killed to save me.” She says, nodding her head at the three body shaped scorch marks on the ground. She doesn’t know why talking about the death of them suddenly feels so. . . normal, like she’s walking through a dream and none of this is real. More like a nightmare.

“Killing bad men doesn't make me a good one.” You grunt, choosing not to voice how your motives for killing them had been far more selfish than she could imagine. Vengeance and anger are poor motives, but motives nonetheless.

Aisha clicks her tongue and scowls. “And saving me would make you bad? One good deed has to amount for something, right?”

A pregnant pause rings through the silent night.

“You are strange.” Is the only thing your mind can turn into words.

“So are you!” She shoots back quickly, lowering her head when her words register in her brain. Chewing on her bottom lip she pulls out the last glass shard from your skin, letting it fall from her fingers where it joins the small pile on the ground. She awkwardly pats your shoulder. “Who were they?” She finds her voice again.

“Devourers.” You fail to hide the hate in your tone. Stepping away from her you activate the spell you’ve cast on yourself. The magic burning at the edges of the hole in your clothing flares up, fire washing over your naked skin to reconstruct the fabric you had destroyed. “Humans who want magic, and will bleed you dry to get it.” The jacket feels bigger on you than it should, you don’t even doubt that you’ve lost a few pounds just in the past few hours as you’re forced to tighten your belt to keep your pants from sagging. "Kill them if you can, avoid them if you can't."

“Why did they want me?” Aisha asks, bracing herself on the car’s hood and slowly sliding down until her feet touch the ground. She feels lightheaded and sways on her feet, gripping the hood to keep upright. You glance at her but she just shakes her head — you two are even now, she hopes, she doesn’t want to have to ask for help for something as simple as standing.

“You’re a mage, they want magic.” You shrug, fixing the cuffs on your jacket so not an inch of your mage marked skin shows. “They want your blood, by drinking it they can use what they lack.”

Unwanted thoughts laugh at the back of your mind. Phantom pain blooms across your throat as you swallow, your lungs stuttering to draw breath. Memories you'd rather not revisit nibble at the back of your mind, just begging to gain your attention. Your hand reaches out to hold the tags—

Nothing.

You come up empty.

Your heart finally stops.

You hold your fist against your chest for a few seconds, the need to break something, even your own sternum, crooning soft melodies in your ears. Finally your fingers slowly uncurl so your palm rests flat over your heart. Your body is warm, but a blizzard rages inside your ribcage. You lost them, again. . . and you don’t feel fury, or sadness, or any other way. You don’t feel shit.

A low pathetic sound escapes you. Titanium wires stitch your jaw closed, pulled so taut you'd chip a tooth without your magic. For a split second you think of dispelling the magic around the tracker and letting them come to you. . . but you don’t; at least Taurus’s training remains effective. You’re sure your brain will let you feel anger as soon as you’ll be in a position to survive the consequences of anger birthed stupidity.

Aisha leans to her side just enough to see your front, confusion written on her face as to why you had suddenly gone quiet. Though your eyes still burn with an inferno, they feel empty to her. She remembers her father’s eyes had been the same when he had returned from fighting. “Did you lose someone?” She asks, voice soft.

“Yes.” You grunt, and fuck, it feels insulting to them how lost you sound. You’re one of the best mages on the planet for fuck’s sake, you’re not supposed to feel this way. “Lost a lot of people.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be.” You finally pry your hand off your chest, both hands now hanging by your sides, fingers curled into fists. “You had nothing to do with it.” You wish you could say the same to yourself.

You shake your head; feelings can come after the job is done. You know the general lay of the land enough to know there is a small city not far from where you are, one that isn’t too harsh on mages. It would take her a couple of hours on foot to reach, but it’s better than nothing. You tell as such, starting to walk towards your motorcycle. “Get to the city, don’t linger around here.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Aisha follows after you, struggling to keep up. “What am I supposed to do when I get there?” Her mind swirls with all sorts of questions, where will she go? What of her parents? What if—

“Do what you want.” You shrug and get on the motorcycle, the engine roaring to life. “Join the military or the circus or whatever else, just don’t stay here.” And with that you drive off.

. . .

"Well, would you look at that." A man sighs as he pulls the binoculars down to rest in his lap, a deep frown on his face. It only lasts for a scant few seconds before he smirks, crows feet forming around his eyes. "Our firebug's manners haven't changed one bit." The man chuckles and turns his head to regard his companion, eyes glowing the color of crystal clear quartz.

"Oh, I wonder who taught him that." The woman sitting next to him snarks, the blue chains marring her arms disappearing like a mirage when she dispels the illusion spell. The human skin melts away to coarse sand and weathered whalebone, red bone eating worms squirming and boring holes into the whalebone, small anglerfish lures softly waving through the air as if she's deep beneath the sea.

The man purses his lip, "I've no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm sure, mister 'I dropped a mountain on an oil rig with my second in command still in it'." Water flows between the seams of whalebone, extending past the stumps of her wrists to form hands of seafoam and salt.

She uses her newly remade hands to tug on the man’s ear like he’s a disobedient child.

The man scoffs and bats her hand away. "Hey now, you did say you wanted to go diving." He shrugs, "Oh, and looks like I won our bet." He smirks, catching the golden coin the woman throws him. Charles's face smiles on one side of it, but the man pays it no mind and puts the coin in his pocket; they’re both far too old to care about money and the dead kings on them.

“Yes, but not like that!” She snaps, not even the bandages around her head able to hide the glare she throws at him. But instead of following up on her anger she sighs and looks down at her hands. Glowing blue plankton swim in the crystal clear waters, but it feels like yesterday her hands were dyed a burning orange.

She hates what they had to do. What they continue to do. “Ifrit is still too reckless. Your plan failed.”

“No it didn’t.” He shoots back. “We just overestimated the kid again. It wouldn’t have been a problem if you hadn’t coddled them all so much.”

The man fully expects the slap on the shoulder he receives, cool water splashing on his greying blond hair. He doesn’t comment on it, simply runs his hand over the patch of wet hair. Small green shrubs bloom on the cracked earth texture of his palm, moss crawling up the crystalline outcrops along his elbow bone, little flowers sprouting in his hair and beard.

They sit in silence for a moment before the woman sighs and hangs her head. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.” Lifting her head she angles it to look at the man. “I just… I wish we didn’t have to do this.” She confesses. “It breaks my heart to see Ifrit so lost.” As much as her still heart can be broken.

“I know, I know.” He reaches out to gently take her hands into his. Though she can’t see his face, even her magic can only go so far, she knows he’s sporting a gentle smile. “Ifrit will be fine. He has no choice.”

Two jet planes fly overhead, engines screaming, blind to their existence as they rush after their prodigal soldier like bats out of hell.

The woman grimaces, water easily sliding past his fingers as she pulls her hands away. “I know,” She tilts her head towards the abandoned house, and the girl slowly walking away from it. “I suppose I’ll find something to occupy myself with.” The woman gets up, glancing at the man once again. “I hope you know what you’re doing Taurus.”

"I always do Sierra."

. . .

The atmosphere is so thick a vampire could bite into it. They all know first hand how missions can go wrong in a moment’s notice, but none of them had expected it to go this pear shaped; some of the mages they had been given are dead, the rest are all in some kind of coma, and it’s a miracle that Captain Roberts had survived long enough to get medical evac with how burned up she was. Gaz had almost lost his lunch when he’d gone to pick up the mage captain and her arm had fallen off in brittle pieces of blackened bone, fabric and skin melted together all over her torso.

"Are you boys alive?" Is the first question out of Laswell's lips when the contact her. The shoddy connection makes her face grainy and pixelated, but her voice is clear enough, tinged with exhaustion and the light of the screen darkens the bags under her eyes.

“Yeah,” Kyle says, “Besides nearly getting turned into KFC we’re fine.” He moves his wings for emphasis, holding back a grimace at how the residual soot and ash irritates the soft skin beneath his feathers. He’ll be lucky if it’ll wash out after a week, though the grime is only secondary to the stench of death and heat clinging to him.

Soap grunts, not bothering or simply forgetting to pull the frozen piece of rubber from his mouth before speaking. “O-cgh ohnlhy ah fheph burhnrs.” Spit leaks down his swollen lip as he gurgles. It hadn't been noticeable at first, but when the adrenaline wore off the pain in his gums hit him like a truck. The medic had given him the rubber to soothe the burns all over his mouth, and he would have been pissed about how much it looked like a doggy chew toy if the relief it brought wasn’t worth it. Doesn’t mean he’s any less agitated about looking like a teething puppy.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Kyle chides, singed wingtips flicking against the back of Soap’s skull.

Johnny pulls the rubber out of his mouth enough to growl back and simultaneously tries to swallow the saliva. He chokes, hitting his chest a few times and coughing, “Yae try ta talk with a burned mouth! Feel like ah’ve been gargling devil pish.”

“Boys.” Price snaps, voice as cold and hard as his reptilian eyes. “Enough.” There’s a hardness in his gaze neither men have seen in a while or even think of challenging. It’s easy to see that something is bothering the dragon, even if he doesn’t say it, and whatever it is, it’s got Price angry.

Not the usual ‘shouting and arguing’ angry Price gets when he’s given dog shit orders, no. This is the cold and silent anger that precedes the destruction of cities.

Soap looks away, biting down on the frozen rubber. Gaz mumbles an apology.

“John,” Kate begins, sensing the storm in his head. “What did you find out?”

“Ifrit knows Ruin magic.” Price says, bits of steam rising from the corners of his lips as his anger shows. He had gone centuries believing that despicable magic had finally died out and rotted away like every mage that used it. He was wrong. Very wrong.

“Shit.” Laswell rubs the bridge of her nose, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Price’s wing flares out a bit, tail flicking side to side in a subconscious show of agitation. “I felt it.”

“Anyone care to share with the class.” Simon asks, arms crossed over his chest and claws digging into his biceps. The light pricks of pain keep him grounded enough to ensure his arms don’t turn into puffs of dark smoke; he’s had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach ever since the fight, something about you — how you moved, how confidently you used magic — he hadn’t seen it in a while.

And it didn’t bode well. It was better when a mage was scared of their own shadow and put on a cheap mask of confidence. But with you? There wasn’t even a single second of hesitation in anything you did.

Price looks at him, then at the two sergeants, finally looking at Laswell as the two exchange nods. “It’s nothing good.” A sigh leaves him. “Ruin magic is old and dangerous,” Price starts, eyes hard like stone. “The last time it was used a plague swept across Europe.”

“What?” Kyle’s eyebrows furrow. “Do you seriously mean the black death was caused by magic?”

"Yes," Kate says, "But we can have a history lesson later. Ifrit knowing ruin magic changes things, they're now our top priority."

"Ah dhogh geh-" Soap remembers they can't understand him and pulls the rubber out of his mouth. "Ah don't get it, what's so special about ruin magic? Ain't all that magical shite the same?"

"No." Price grunts, "A ruin mage needs the body of another person to learn a spell. They see anything or anyone living as chunks of meat to be used in their spells." His eyes darken, claws digging into his palms.

He shakes his head. “Did you manage to get any information about Ifrit from the tags?” Price asks. He had sent photo copies of each dog tag to Laswell as soon as Johnny had given them to him.

Soap pulls the rubber from his mouth, swallowing the excess spit before reaching out to grab the tags laying on the table. He doesn’t know why, but something about holding them feels sacrilegious to him; like he’s holding the pelt of another werewolf instead of pieces of metal.

“No, Ifrit’s tags aren’t ones made by the military.” Laswell says, and that piques Kyle's interest. He leans over to look at the tags as Johnny inspects them. The metal chain hangs loosely off his fingers, weighed down by more than a dozen tags dangling from it. They vary in damage, some are bent, some have black heat marks on them in the shape of fingertips, and some are so blackened he needs to use his fingers to feel the text. Silicon silencers prevent the tags from making noise when he lays them down in a pile on his palm, a couple of them spilling over to hang at the sides of his hand. The first thing he notices is the stench, nothing specific like the smell mages have, but it’s not pleasant either.

Soap takes a random tag and reads off the fine text —

‘JACHAL

VENENUM, ACIDUM, L9

MAJOR

O NEG

JEWISH’

“Yer telling me.” Soap huffs, taking out his own tags from beneath his shirt to compare the two, just to make sure he’s not insane and the tags don’t make sense.

“What kind of shite even is this?” Johnny’s tags sport his full government name and security name without mentioning his rank. The tags he has in his hand look more like the ones civies would get personalized than anything else. He grimaces and hands the tags over to Gaz, “Are they even real?” He asks.

“Why would someone just carry around a bunch of fake tags?” Gaz asks, inspecting them as well.

“Could be part of a wannabe militia. Wouldn’t be the first time some punks with guns tried to play army.” Ghost shrugs. “Could also be to throw us off.” Ghost suggests, tilting his head enough to see Kyle appraise the small hunks of metal. “Or it’s all for shits n’ giggles.”

Kyle’s sharp eyes spot the tag he had been looking for; the tag is the only one without a silencer, the metal caked in soot and ash that the letters are hard to see and Kyle needs to trace the metal with the pad of his thumb to understand what they say:

‘IFRIT

IGNIS, CINIS, RUINA L10

CAPTAIN–

“Whoa,” Gaz’s eyebrows raise. “Ifrit’s a bloody captain.”

“What’s someone like that doing as a terrorist’s dog?” Soap asks.

“Ifrit’s motives remain unclear, but I did find something.” Kate shuffles some papers off screen, pulling up two thin looking file folders. “Two of the tags you sent me have actual people on them.” She says, taking a paper from each folder. Even through the camera they can see how the once crisp white paper has been yellowed with age. “Lance Corporals Hutch and Lambert, both presumed KIA nearly 11 years ago along with their entire squad. Apparently they were led by Corporal Yerrow to conduct a reconnaissance mission in Iraq to investigate a human smuggling ring, but a shoot-out caused a forest fire and no bodies were ever recovered.”

Johnny sniffs the air, crossing his arms over his chest, tail tip slowly wagging. “Anyone smell bull shite?”

“You’re not the only one.” Kate turns the files so the text side is aimed at the camera. More than half of the documents are redacted to the point it looks like a rorschach test. “I haven’t been able to access the original files, if they even exist, but the agent that oversaw the mission was a predecessor of mine, I’ll see if I can get in contact with him. ” It wouldn’t be the first time the CIA covered something up, but what could have happened back then that even Kate couldn’t get to the files?

“Great, what other shite can we pile on our plates?” Soap growls, ears twitching.

“Don’t jinx it.” Kyle says, gently setting the tags on the table.

“There’s another thing.” Kate adds, putting the files away.

“Nice going puppy.” Ghost grunts, ignoring the look Soap gives him.

“Whatever it is, it’ll need to wait.” Price says, speaking up finally. “Ifrit’s a ruin mage. We need to put it down before it melts half the country to slag.”

“That’s the problem.” Kate’s voice makes Price’s eyes sharpen, slitted pupils turning into thin black lines. “We’ve managed to identify the gas used in the terror attack. It was Sarin gas, remnants of Barkov. The same ones Makarov stole.”

“Told you they’re a damn magnet fer wankers.” Soap mutters under his breath. Price's eyes shift to him, giving him a hard look and making it very clear it’s not the time for his comments. Soap’s ears twitch and his tail curls around his leg.

“How did Al-Qatala get their hands on the gas? There’s no way Makarov would just hand over his toys.” Ghost asks.

“We don’t know yet. And we might not ever know if you don’t hurry.” Kate stresses. “The top brass figured out Khaled’s location, they think Ifrit’s going after Khaled so they’re sending troops to take them both out in one place as we speak.”

Price catches on quickly. “Kate, you’re not telling me we need Ifrit alive?” Price stresses, body stiff.

“I’m not,” Kate rebuts, just as tense. “This is an order.” Price flashes his teeth at her, but finally looks away, black smog escaping past the corner of his lips.

“If you can’t get to Khaled, Ifrit will be our only chance to get Makarov.” She ads.

“So go capture the human bomb without dying.” Gaz summarizes, claw tips nervously scratching at the fresh pin feathers growing from his forearms. “Sounds easy.”

“Walk in tae park.” Johnny snarks.

"Only the parks on fire." Ghost adds, tone dry as old bone.

Price stays still and silent for a few moments. Thunder rumbles in his chest and his tail tip lashes against the floor as indications of his anger. His claws scrape against his palms with the need to tear into the festered flesh of the ruin mage, to rip out the heart and destroy it so he can make sure that blasted magic is gone for good.

But he relents, only so he can have unrestrained access to you once they get the information they need. “Pack up. On the double.” Price growls. “We’ve got a mage to hunt.”

. . .

Why did you do it?

It had been a split second decision to divert course when you'd sensed the Devourers, and even then, the mana they gave you through Beelzebub was miniscule compared to what you were used to handling. Hell, you probably wasted more mana using the temporary invisibility spell to get close to the Devourers than what you made from them.

With Khaled's betrayal and an unknown military likely after your head, ignoring the Devourers would have been the smart move. Your ‘heroic’ act won’t earn you any brownie points with whatever made the mistake of putting you on the planet — that’s for fucking sure.

But. . . she reminded you of, well, you. The you violent flames had cremated when they first sparked across your fingers. The you you’d left behind when you took your friend’s hand and ran as fast as your legs could carry. The you you’d been forced to stuff beneath the floorboards and ignore as you lied to the recruiter. The you you sometimes wish you hadn’t forsaken for the sake of survival.

. . . eh, what does it matter? Frosty’s as dead as the rest of them and no amount of grief and tears (assuming you could even force yourself to weep) will bring him back. Maybe it’s a good thing you never found his tags, the universe’s way of keeping him from suffering the humiliation you’ve inflicted on the others.

The engine roars beneath you like a caged beast, each little rock and hole in the uneven terrain causing the motorcycle to buck, the back of the seat knocking up into your tailbone. It’s a necessary evil, driving far away from the main road with the lights off helps you evade detection slightly better, and you’ll take anything you can get. Your commander’s words are etched into your bones: “Only let your enemies know you’re coming when your knife is hilt deep in their throat.”.

The sizzle in your bones and little deep pinpricks of pain in your lower back are barely noticeable with how numb you feel. Both in body and in what’s left of your humanity. You’ve gotten good at that — turning off your emotions and doing what needs to be done; you’re sure if you got shot dead that your body would finish the mission before it figured out there was a bullet in your skull.

Sometimes you even wonder what a witch would see if she ever tried to scry into your heart. Would it still be the hellish landscape Taurus showed you all those years ago? Or would it be like Pompei? Or some other landscape of impeccably preserved tragedy?

Your fingers twitch around the handlebars in an attempt to stop yourself from reaching out for something that’s not there anymore. Some vestigial and selfish part of you whimpers and yearns for the brief respite the tags brought. Their absence feels more suffocating than all the times you’ve been hanged; more painful than when your throat had been used as an artistic butcher’s canvas.

Your magical senses pick up the life signs long before your enhanced ears hear the screech of jet engines. You nearly snap your neck with how quickly you look up, able to catch two jet planes flying overhead by the glow of their engines, trying to track both of their flight paths.

You tighten the grip on the handlebars and increase the speed. You don’t stop to see if they saw you, you know they did from the way the planes twirl in the air. . . and from the way they shoot rockets at you.

Letting go of one handle you let mana rush to your fingers, cinders burning away your sleeve and glove. Just as the rockets get close enough for you to hear their screeching you swing your arm up, a burning arch of flames following after your palm. The motion is enough to tell your brain what you want, a thick screen of roaring flames spreading out from the arc in front of you.

The missiles hit the wall of flames instead of you. You swear you nearly go deaf from the loud explosion the missiles make when they connect with your defense magic, everything around you shaking from the sudden force but the spell holds, not even a scratch in sight. The resulting smoke flares around the sides in a suffocating cloud, the thick wall of fire obscuring your vision and forcing you to blindly swerve side to side.

Your magic may protect you, but it can’t stop the rocket from hitting the ground right in front of the wheel. The whistle and screech of the missile is the only warning you get before the ground beneath you explodes and sends you flying. You hit the ground and roll, jagged rocks slamming into your bones, scraps of metal pelting your back. Magic washes over you to heal the bones you break.

It leaves you feeling every bit of pain when the motorcycle falls on top of you, pushing the breath out of your lungs. The sudden force has your jaw slamming onto the ground, your tongue caught between your teeth. Blood floods your mouth. It tastes like battery acid and burns your throat on its way down to your stomach, but it forces adrenaline to rush through your system and let you push the motorcycle off you.

Your spine cracks multiple times in the short seconds it takes for your magic to fix the bones, giving you back the sensation in your limbs so you can roll to your side and avoid another missile. You summon a few smaller flame shields to protect your head and vitals from the blast, but not from the sharp rocks that hit your back like grenade pieces.

Your vision swimming and ears ringing you scramble to your knees. You’re given no choice but to use your own blood. Even with the distraction of another missile hitting your shield, it’s easy for you to focus your mana. It flows from your heart to your fingers but you don’t let it escape like it wants. Forcing it to pool in your palms until the heat burns away your remaining glove and turns the stone of your hands into lava.

It only takes a few seconds for fat drops of brightly melted rock to drip onto the ground, and only then can you feel your blood, both the one in your veins and the rivulets of bright orange freely flowing down your back. Burning hot and brimming with so much mana it’s no problem for you to take hold of the blood you've bled. Bright crimson crawls across your back to draw a magic circle from memory alone.

Quickly hunching your back generates enough force to make your blood bust through your vessels, two arcs of blood tearing through skin and muscle like a knife. The bright glow of your blood lights up the dark, stray droplets hovering in the air like oil in water as more of it flows from your body and branches out until it resembles skeletonized wings. Fire sparks at your skin and follows the blood, forcing it to crystallize in place as ash takes up the space between the bones and cascades down in long shrouds. Obsidian sharp crystal blood digs into your skin with every little move of your new wings as they twitch erratically. Lighting races up your spine, your mind forced to create new nerves and deal with sensations it wasn’t designed for.

You summon a circle beneath your feet, ash bursting up to send you high into the air in a long continuous column like it’s the tower of Babel just as another missile hits the place you had been moments ago. The spark from the rocket ignites the ash, giving you an extra few feet in the air before you start to fall.

The leftover smoke swallows you whole, gravity forcibly tipping you back until you’re falling head first. The wind screeches in your ears and the grounds gets closer and closer with every second, the grim reaper laughing over your shoulder; you remember yelling and screaming, even passing out, many times during this type of training. Now, you are calm.

Your mind finally creates the right nerves to move your limbs. Your wings spread out with the same violence they burst out of your back, sharply pulling on your chest muscles as they swing out and down. The flap of your wings breaks off a bit of the ash covering your crystallized blood, flames burning at the tips of your wings making the ash erupt in an explosion and creating enough force for you to soar high into the air.

Flying is hard regardless of how often you’ve done this, your back muscles cramping as you struggle to use your new wings. Not that it actually is flying in the same sense the harpies or other winged creatures would call it. More like gliding with extra steps. Either way, it serves its purpose in making you airborne and mobile.

You shoot high up into the sky like a bullet, trails of ash following after you and wrapping around you like a shroud. The quick movement of your wings and sharp turns let you avoid a set of missiles shot at you, but even at your fastest speed you’ve got no chance of hitting the quick jets flying around you like flies. So instead you use simple spells and hope your aim hasn’t gotten rusty. The muscles in your core and arms tense, a circle forming flush with your palms. Mana rushes to your arms and you use the brief stability in the air between the flaps of your wings to set off your spell.

A solid beam of concentrated flame shoots out, thin as a pencil but it tears through the clouds and metal plane like butter. You manage to cleave off a wing, the wound left behind in the metal glows brightly, before a simple thought activates the latent magic and the entire jet explodes a second later.

Rockets and bullets fly at your back like plague carrying insects, only to be burned away by your magic. Your neck hurts from how sharply you jerk your head to look behind you, mana flowing to your eyes to enhance your sight until the jet is clearly visible. At least you have comfort in the fact your hand eye coordination is still as sharp as ever, another beam of fire cleaving the jet in two.

And just like that, you’re alone in the sky.

You don’t realize how rapidly your heart is beating until you take a moment to breathe, wings spreading out to let you glide through the sky. You reach into your pocket to pull out the tracker, a small piece of rich green rock. Your magic swirls across the surface of it, cinders worming through the stone; You don’t know how they found you when your magic is still active on the tracker, there are no ‘happy accidents’ in your line of work.

Gritting your teeth you dispel your magic around the tracker and toss it as far as you can in the opposite direction, wings pressing closer to your body to increase the speed of your glide.

With your motorcycle more than likely fucked, you have no choice but to rely on your bloodmade wings longer than you’d like. Using the mana you’d stuck on Khaled as a compass you let yourself fall and gain speed before spreading out your wings. The deep muscles in your back and chest scream for a second with each flap of your wings before your magic silences them, the discomfort of using temporary limbs easy to shove into the back of your mind. Your flying speed is much faster than that of the motorcycle, the ground moving rapidly beneath you.

You’re only mildly surprised to feel Khaled’s presence in his base. It’s an old oil refinery that was abandoned when the Russians restricted the production of oil in the country. Khaled found it and turned it into a bastion, hiding up high in the mountains like he’s some kind of king.

Any old dragon can attest a kingdom of steel and concrete like that won’t survive scorching flame.

Your only problem is that it’s got magic sensing tech, which just means there’s some extremely sensitive electronics that end up sparking like shoddily made light bulbs when more than just the smallest amount of modern magic is used. Sometimes you hate how thorough you are.

Luckily for you, it’s not the first time you’ve had to sneak past such tech.

You land near the base of the mountain, just at the edge where you know the range of those sensors ends. You’d like to say you land gracefully and with barely a sound, but you’re pretty sure a tank would have an easier time than you. The exhaustion and the added weight on your back doesn’t help you in any way to keep balance, making you stumble forward and almost trip on a root. Your arms spread out to grip the trees for support, but you underestimate your strength and the wood splinters under your right hand, making you fall face first.

The few seconds you spend flat on the ground is probably the longest you’ve spent laying down in the past month.

With a sharp breath you get to your feet, carefully leaning your shoulder against a tree. Your makeshift wings press against your back and pull on your muscles, but the thought of ‘what if you’ll need them?’ keeps you from dispelling them. Embers burn away the clothing shielding your front, giving yourself just enough sight of your skin to be able to cast the spells you need.

It’s one thing to push your mana to your hands and out as magic, it’s another to force the burning heat through every little capillary in your skin and pull on it in certain spots until magical circles etch themselves into your skin. It’s not that far off from using blood magic, only it requires a little less mana and focus. You’ve done this so much you could do it with your eyes closed, filling the insides of the circles with little diamonds and magical sigils only your mind can grasp.

The body enhancing spell has an immediate effect. The pain in your back disappears suddenly like it was never there, the vestiges of weakness from mana use getting pushed back to the back of your mind. It even dispels the base painful thrum in your skull you hadn’t realized you had.

With a clearer mind you go about casting more similar spells that carve themselves into your skin; one to temporarily strengthen your body beyond what you already have, another to force your mana generator to increase in productivity, yet a third one to increase the potency of your spells; Buffs that push your body past the edge of what it can take, to the point you barely feel human.

This is the closest man will ever come to godhood. ”Don’t let it get to your little head firebug.”

Your last spell to prepare is different. A dirty trick.

“Valefar.” You huff, speaking another name for a spell that deserves respect. Nothing happens at first, but then you feel it. Like a living thing deep beneath the earth, Valefar hums a soft lullaby to the tune of crackling flames. The dirt beneath you expands and black flames break through the earth, creating a spider web of dark old magic that fills up the empty root system spanning the entire mountain. The flames don’t dare touch you yet. They’re waiting. . . hungry.

Before the problematic thing in your skull can give you grief, you let the waiting beast in and welcome it like a brother. Valefar’s black flames shudder and slowly, carefully, crawl up your legs, scampering along your abdomen and kissing the sharp transition between skin and mage marks. They paint the yellow glow of your mage marks a pitch black, the magma of your arms and your crystalized blood turning black as obsidian. Even the flames tipping the ends of your wings turn black as pitch.

For a second you’re accosted with the sensation of every bit of magic you had pushed into the earth over the months, every drop of mana obediently waiting its time in the rotten root system. But Valefar soothes your mind, dampening the glow of your eyes and shrouding your brain in water cool flames. Valefar lacks the crushing weight or the freezing cold of most ruin spells, simply almost thrilled to be used.

Ruin magic is too old to be tracked by modern means, and you take the first step into the range of the sensors without fear. You knew Khaled would betray you, you’ve almost started growing old in an industry that killed its soldiers young, you knew to listen to your stomach. Khaled had been one of those people you wouldn’t trust as far as you could throw them, though you never expected him to be so brazen about it. It’s no different than the day hellfire rained down on your hea-

You stop yourself mid thought the second you register your anger trying to boil over, the burning heat inside your chest making steam rise off your shoulders. Asmodeus, the one spell you won’t ever use, sparks beneath your skin; angry, vengeful. You stifle it before it can gain an upper hand, sparks of black flame flying past your lips as you breathe out and escaping through the filters of your mask.

Taurus always blamed your hotheadedness on your magic. What is a mage if not the fire Prometheus stole for you? The suffocating hate Vesuvius spewed? The blackened rotten blood giving birth to spells like Beelzebub and Valefar?

Loud gunfire breaks through your thoughts; Khaled would never practice shooting drills in the middle of the night.

You increase your pace, turning your jog into a run. As you near the old refinery something immediately stands out to you – there’s way too many life signatures than there should be. Even without a good line of sight you can sense them, all those beating hearts and flickers of life fluttering together like moths until you find yourself with a massive pain in your skull.

Breathing out a small breath you duck behind the tall trees just at the edge of the compound. To say you’re surprised to find Urzikstan soldiers engaged in combat with Khaled’s men would be an understatement. And the army didn’t hold anything back. There’s a fuck ton of soldiers, most of them hiding behind tanks that block the only exit from the compound and sponge up the machine gun fire Khaled’s men are unloading into them. Bullets rain down on both sides, there’s even fucking helicopters flying in the air — this is a full on assault.

You can still sense Khaled is in the refinery somewhere, you would be able to narrow down on his exact location if there weren’t so many living bodies buzzing around like ants. Your mind whirls with ideas; you could use the distraction and sneak past, or you could just destroy both sides in one quick and clean attack, you doubt anyone would be able to notice you using magic when they’re more focused about the hail of bullets.

A tree branch snaps beneath you, followed by the clicking of a gun and three rounds going off. “Mage in sight! I repeat I got mage in sight!”

Nevermind.

The bullets tear through your vest but just bounce off your magic enhanced skin. You turn on your heel, holding your arm out. “Beelzebub.” Burning cold swells in your heart and crawls through your veins, black flames shooting out from your palm at the soldier. He barely has the chance to scream before the black fire eats away his vocal cords, his gun clattering to the floor. In only a few seconds the only thing left of him is the uniform and the black flames burning in the shape of a man.

Despite how stupid it might be, you let go of the fine control you have over Beelzebub. It doesn’t waste a second, thousands of little wisps of obsidian fire breaking off from the main mass and shooting out at the nearest source of organic matter. Be they tree or human, Beelzebub will devour them all the same.

Fresh mana fills your chest and you’re quick to turn it into something useful. This time it takes significantly less time to spread your wings, summoning ash beneath your feet and launching yourself up into the air.

Tree branches whack you over the head before you make it into the open air. . . and accidentally smash your head into the belly of a helicopter. A dull 'thump' sounds and you're not sure if it's your head that's empty or the helicopter.

Your vision blurs for a second, and you shake your head to get rid of the temporary headache. The helicopter swerves to the side, the tail swinging right at you, the soldiers inside yelling. Tucking your wings close to your body you fall just in time to avoid the tail, twisting your body as you careen through the air until you’ve got a clear line of sight. One magic circle is all it takes to blast a sizable hole through the center of the flying machine, taking out the engine and the blades all at once.

Quickly flapping your wings you dart up through the hole you created, ash flooding the inside of the heli as you pass and erupting in an explosion a second later. The heli plumets down to the ground but you stay in the air, spreading your wings out to soar. This high up you’ve got a clear view of everything — the entire compound, made up of two big buildings connected with a catwalk and oil storage towers; The machine gun men shooting at tanks with no regard for how many bullets they use; Beelzebub’s black flames spreading across the terrain like a forest fire, consuming everything in sight until the only thing left is scorched earth and dust.

First things first, the machine guns. Though not as dangerous to you as the tanks, you’ve had enough of them to sate you for a lifetime, and you’d rather not be on the receiving end again. With sitting ducks for targets it’s laughably easy to cast simple homing spells to kill the gunner and melt the machine guns mounted on the rails.

A bullet hits your chest, tearing through the bullet proof vest. It bounces off your skin but the force nearly knocks you out of the sky. You go with the force, tucking your wings and flipping backwards in the air until you can spread them out to glide down. You notice the snipers, two on the roof of each building, one on the middle one of the tall oil towers just behind the buildings. You go for the straggler first, diving down with the speed of a bullet.

The sniper tries to shoot you again but you barrel roll out of the way. You shoot a ball of flames at the sniper when you're close enough, completely disintegrating him on contact. Turning to your side you soar through the gap between two oil towers, making a sharp left turn around the tower with a quick flap of your wings so you can quickly soar up.

The building to your right is closer and your next target. Gliding down close to the roof you you summon your spell, incinerating the closer of the two snipers. The other one drops his rifle to shoot at you with a pistol, but you just tuck your wings close and barrel roll to evade the bullets.

Your wings suddenly spread out with the force of a tightly coiled spring, the crystalline edge slicing straight through the sniper's neck like a guillotine. You're given no time to focus on the remaining snipers when a massive artillery shell flies at you. With a swing of your arm your flames race out to collide with the shell, an explosion going off right in front of your face. Ash and soot cake on top of your lenses but that's a small price to pay when you can safely dart through the smoke cloud; looks like the tanks have noticed you.

Pulling your wings close to your wings close to your body you divebomb to take out the final two snipers. You crash into one of them, your boots making contact with his chest and the force you’ve generated from your flight means you completely smash through his ribs the second his back hits the roof. The concrete cracks beneath your boot, but that doesn't stop you as you race across it, pulling your arm back to swing a fist at the remaining sniper. The skull cracks the second your fist connects, breaking completely under your knuckles, blood and brains splattering on the lenses of your gasmask.

The roof you're on has a helicopter on it, and you think of destroying it, but the tanks present a bigger problem. Leaping off the edge of the building you launch yourself back into the air, turning your attention to the tanks. There’s four of them, all spread out in a vague arc across the empty field of land between the buildings and the road leading out. Not a problem for you.

Slowing down to a smooth glide you stretch your arms out in front of you. Your flames rush out to hit the artillery shells shot at you, but it also forces the mana Beelzebub keeps stuffing into your chest to move to your palms. Summoning four evenly sized circles in front of you is easy for a mage of your caliber. With mana burning in your palms you squeeze your hands, forcing all that magic to shoot out through the centers of the circles as concentrated beams of flame. As if struck down by some god's smite, The tanks blow up the moment your magic hits them, leaving smoldering half melted skeletons of steel behind.

You land near one of the tanks with enough force to crack the charred ground beneath you, stumbling a few steps forward. You turn your head, using the tattered remains of your jacket near your shoulders to wipe away the lenses. It makes you see the clear destruction Beelzebub has wrought, the once lush forest surrounding the compound turned baren. Yet the spell hungers still, given the chance it would easily devour the entire world, and you can feel it gnaw on the edges of your passive control in it's attempt to stray away from you. Biting the hand that feeds. Arrogant. Just like Lambert.

You're forced to snuff it out, dispelling Beelzebub before it tries to sweep through the country like all ten plagues.

A shuddering breath leaves you for the first time in a while, your lungs stuttering as you breathe in for the first time in a while. Despite how stuffed to the gills with mana your chest is, how you can barely breathe with the pressure against your ribs, you can feel the familiar sting of your bones — the cost of mana use burrowing into your marrow. The missions, the ambush, this, it’s all starting to pile on. It’s the cost, you suppose, no mortal will ever become god, this is simply a consequence for your choices.

Shots ring out above the crackle of flames, bullets bouncing off your body and only making you aware of the soldiers. Thy are too much of a problem to be kept alive, but killing them with magic would be a waste of mana considering you’re slowly reaching the breaking point of how much even your augmented body can handle.

Fortunately, you’ve got a cheap trick up your sleeve. Quickly sensing the exact location of the Urzikstan soldiers you cast another spell, circles forming beneath their feet before chains of living flame ensnare them like rabbits. "Belial." You say, your gaze fixed on the Urzikstan soldiers.

Belial is softer on your arteries than Beelzebub, but it still passes from your heart and into your fingers like a kidney stone. Big globs of tar black lava drip from your arms, sizzling and steaming when splatter on the ground. But they don’t stay inert for long. You’ve seen the sight a thousand times; Roaches made of pure black lava crawl out of the puddles by the dozens, quickly skittering towards the hapless humans. They crawl up the bound soldiers, fiery mandibles eating away the flesh and boring holes through muscle, squirming into every orifice, infesting every inch of their insides.

The soldiers try to scream but their vocal cords are soon devoured as the roaches eat everything they deem useless. They gorge themselves on the fat, groups of them peeling off the skin in long strips until the bowels and other organs fall out to the ground with a wet 'splat' to be eaten by yet more roaches. The bodies twitch and convulse, falling to the ground when you dispel the chains. Blood and mucus froths at their mouths but the roaches drink up even that like it's the finest wine.

When they're done feasting they crawl into the body that's nothing more but muscle, ligament, and bone. A single hand motion is enough to command the bodies to rise. They do so slowly, limbs twitching and bodies shaking as the magical roaches squirm in the homes they've made between muscle fibers. The bodies stumble to their feet, eyeless slack jawed heads full of roaches staring at you.

Your control over them isn’t as fine as Jackal had over his puppets, but it’s still better than what most militaries see. Your well hidden anger bleeds into your magic, you don’t even need to speak for the charred puppets to stumble past you, seeking out to devour the stragglers you missed.

With that done you turn your attention to the large two story building where you can still sense Khaled’s presence.

. . .

"Ah still think this is bollocks." Soap growls when his head bumps against the roof of the Humvee because Price drove over yet another pot hole in the road. "Go capture tae mage that can turn yeh into a kebab, wonderful idea, no wee problem there."

"Noted sergeant." Price grunts, knuckles almost white as he grips the steering wheel. "Anything else you want to add?" He asks but receives a few grumbles in return. They've heard that one part of the army had come to lay siege on the refinery, and from the preliminary reports Laswell gave them, it didn't end well for the poor bastards.

"Do we even have a game plan sir?" Gaz asks, glancing between Ghost and Soap sitting in the backseat. "One that isn't 'let the mage shoot at us until they tucker out'?"

"Got a better idea?" Ghost asks with a small huff. "Let me n' Price do the heavy lifting." He grunts, "You two stay back and provide support."

Even with irritation nibbling on his nerves, Soap can't help himself. "Oh, you like it hot Lt?"

Gaz gives a surprised snort. Ghost side eyes Soap. "Mhm, scorching."

"We're getting close." Price warns, switching gears as the road starts going up the hill. His sharp senses already pick up the lingering hints of smoke and ash along with the tang of burnt flesh. Beneath all of that is something older: the rancid festering flesh of crumbling empires and wild animalistic grief.

Price grits his teeth. "Remember, we need Ifrit alive."

"Laswell never said we had to keep 'em in one piece." Ghost ads.

"Thank fock for that." Johnny says and bumps his shoulder against Ghost's. "Yae reckon she won't mind if ah take a few fingers off?" He asks, a mean grin pulling his lips back to bare his teeth.

"Play nice and I'll throw you a femur too." Ghost chuckles, ignoring the look Johnny gives him.

"Are we even sure this thing will work?" Gaz asks, looking down at the heavy piece of metal in his hands. It looks like a metal collar, runes and circles etched into the outside surface, tiny needles poking from the inside. Three vials filled with bright purple liquid are slotted into the back of the collar. The thing buzzes softly beneath his claws, like there’s a thunderstorm stuck inside the metal, making his fingers go numb.

"That's why we brought the arm restraints to be sure." Ghost says, absentmindedly tapping a clawed finger against the restraints he's holding. They look like big elbow length mittens made out of metal, similar runes scrawled over every inch.

Kyle purses his lips before his gaze turns to the roll of silver tape Price had haphazardly thrown on top of the dashboard. "What's the tape for? Planning to put a bow on Ifrit?"

"Got to wrap up the gift somehow." Ghost shrugs.

"Oh yeah, an I reckon the mage will just sit nice n pretty and let us play dress up." Soap snarks.

"Focus." Price orders, pulling their attention to the front windshield. The forest surrounding the main road abruptly disappears as if a god had photoshopped a different part of the world in it's place, verdant green replaced by scorched black ground and nothing else. The smell of burning metal and flesh is inescapable now, seeping through the cracks of the windows and making Gaz cough.

"Fucking hell." Gaz mumbles, tears stinging his eyes and forcing him to quickly put on the gas mask hanging off his neck. It doesn't help a single bit with the god awful smell.

"This shite is useless." Soap complains as he secures the gas mask to his own face. Soap had smelled his fair share of foul things in the demolition school, from Sulphur to gas and everything that could be used in making explosives, but the stench he's exposed to now makes everything else smell like daisies. "How the hell did the matchstick do this?" He can't help but ask.

"That's the work of ruin magic." Price says, tone hard and clipped.

They're forced to stop a little bit away from the compound as their path is blocked by the wreckage of a helicopter, the steel melted into the concrete road and the sides of the road too steep to drive around. They pile out of the Humvee, Soap and Gaz clutching their guns close; it's uncommon for them to use human made weapons when they're monsters, but Price isn't taking any chances with his mens safety.

They inch carefully past the remains of the helicopter, burnt cracked dirt crunching beneath their boots. With no trees in the way the compound is easy to see, and it looks just as bad as the surrounding area.

"Steaming Jesus." Johnny mutters as they walk around one of the four tanks, the metal melted and flames still flickering a top it. The land here looks like the hell his ma would describe in an attempt to put some godliness in him; The ground is cracked and charred black, hot under their boots. Ash and steam blanket the ground, making it hard to see where they step. Parts of the buildings have been melted, long strands of slag running down the sides of them. There's no light save the fires burning haphazardly across the ground, but their eyes can see fine in the dark.

"Should we check for survivors?" Kyle asks, finger tightly pressed against the safety switch, his wings spread out just enough to be able to quickly launch himself into the air if the need arises.

"Don't bother." Simon says, dark smoke slowly fizzling off his hands. The air in the compound feels heavy, feels like he's back in that fucking coffin. The hair on the back of his neck stands on end, anticipation crackling under his skin like static. "We didn't bring a dust bin. Or Henry the Hoover."

"Fuck Lt," Soap opens his mouth to speak more, but before he can make a sound, they hear a half mangled groan ring out from their side. Immediately raising his gun Soap narrows his eyes, managing to make out a dark outline stumbling towards them. At first Johnny thinks it’s a survivor, but then the steam clears enough to see it’s clearly not. What stumbles towards them is a completely skinned human, muscle and bone charred black, jaw gnashing as if it's already got their throat between its teeth.

Without thinking Johnny unloads a couple of bullets into the body, silenced gunshots echoing in the smoke. The body just soaks up the bullets, continuing to stumble after them. "Shit!" Soap hisses as he steps back, but before he can shoot at it again, Simon's shadows lash out at it.

The whips of darkness knock the corpse to the ground, managing to tear off a desecrated arm off in the process. A disgusting sound gurgles in it's throat as it tries to crawl towards them, the cracked bone of its fingers clawing at the ground. Simon moves his hand up and a spike of darkness erupts from the walking corpse's shadow, destroying the head in an instant. Soap doesn't even have time to breathe before the body starts convulsing, large black pustules rapidly swelling on its back. They explode without warning, black flames spewing out in a few feet around it like a miniature bomb, incinerating the corpse in the process.

A second of silence passes.

"What the fock was that?" Soap stresses, staring at the black flames as they burn on the ground.

"Belial." Price mumbles under his breath, blue eyes narrowing as a small breath of smoke escapes past his lips. "Magic made undead.” Price grunts. “Ruin magic lets the mage control the body like a puppet."

"Great." Soap grunts, trying not to breathe in the scent of burning flesh. "First the bomb shaped mage, now focking zombies? Firecracker's pulling out all the stops." Soap’s tail flicks to his leg and he grips his riffle tighter. "Shit, that smell too." He doesn't know how you keep managing to make things smell worse and worse, but fuck, he's sure the stench will be stuck in his pores for the rest of his life.

"Not a fan of barbeque?" Ghost asks as they step around the burning corpse. Or rather what remains of it.

"Not quite the cook out ah have in mind LT." Johnny grumbles.

"Remind me not to join you two at the next brass dinner." Gaz ads with a humorless chuckle before his harpy eyes spot more movement. "Tangos, one o'clock." He says, and doesn't need to be prompted to fly up into the sky to be their eyes.

"Stick close and aim for the head." Price orders, all of them slowly and quietly making their way into the compound. They encounter more zombies, some of them stumbling around mindlessly, some simply standing. Knowing where to hit they're easy to take out unawares, a couple of bullets through the skull enough to get the corpses on the ground.

Kyle lands behind them when they near a two story building. Another one is opposite it, a catwalk above them connecting the buildings together. A nearby door is torn off its hinges, smoke spilling through it into the surrounding air. It's the only place they can think of where you might be.

"Simon, with me." Price says, "Gaz, Soap, secure the perimeter." Price doesn't need to say it twice. Simon steps close to him, guarding his six as they enter the building. Large holding tanks are built in the center of the building, smoke filling the room up to their knees and the occasional cinder of ash gracefully fluttering through the air. Price automatically checks his right, eyes focusing on the stairs leading to a small room on the second floor, one set of stairs on both sides of the room. Bits of thick ash cascade down the stairs, and both of them can smell the rot.

He makes a small hand motion and Simon understands easily, leaving his side to duck behind the towering oil tanks, crossing the room and reaching the other set of stairs. Quietly they make their way up, making sure not to make a single sound. The door on Price’s side is torn off too, his pointy ear flicking as he hears what he assumes to be your voice, low and muffled, simply asking: "How?"

. . .

Your hand shakes from how hard you try to keep yourself from crushing Khaled's skull. You can already imagine the way bone would softly creak before finally splintering to pieces, the way blood and brains would squelch between your fingers. You grip his head hard enough to bruise instead, his skin bubbling and hair burning from the barely controlled heat of your hand.

Khaled looks exactly how other prideful men look when you come to collect your due — eyes wide, teeth clenched, legs weakly kicking you as you have him dangling in the air. You’d usually feel satisfaction, but the only thing in your heart right now is a suffocating cold.

The cold extends to your free hand, turning the lava into inert stone so not even a single thread of the patch laying in your palm is burned; A black decapitated right hand sits in a crimson backdrop. A crimson eye in the center of it cries bloody tears. ‘Mortem Opetere’ is stitched on top of it, boldly proclaiming what awaits you. Across both sides just three measly words turn your world upside down: ‘Red Right Hand’.

Your jaw feels welded shut as you try to open it, moving your tongue like your mouth's full of barbed wire before you manage to force out one word: "How?"

Khaled grunts instead of answering, coughing as the ash cascading off your wings continues to twirl in the air. Beelzebub’s flames dance at your feet, consuming the magical ash the second it touches the floor so the room feels suffocating, but it doesn’t make him pass out.

You grip him harder, claws of lava burning through the surface of his skin until you’re digging into the muscles covering his bones, his screams fall deaf on your ears. Even like this, barely able to hold yourself back from cracking his skull like an egg, your magic is controlled. You only let enough mana linger in your palm so the heat burns and stabs at his nerves, but not enough to completely destroy them. “How. Did. You. Get. This?” You ask again, each word like a sharp stab to your tongue.

Khaled bites his lip so hard it bleeds, glaring at you with utter disgust in his eyes. “Ask your- mh!- your commander lich-”

You notice the enemy presence a second too late, gunshots blasting in your ears. Having dispelled your body enhancing spells because of how taxing they were, you’re left with no choice but to blindly throw up a shield of crackling flames to destroy the bullets.

You miss one.

The bullet hits the crystalized bone of your wing and it's all it takes to create a spark. The ash making up your wings erupts, the resulting explosion unable to damage your wing but it does knock you forward. Khaled slips through your fingers as you both are tossed to the ground from the force. Your magic surges through your hand even as you scramble to stand, magic circles forming in the air to shoot uncontrolled flames at the two exits of the room.

Ropes of dark shadows shoot out from the right doorway, forcing you to throw yourself to the side to dodge them. You get to your feet just as the shadows hit the wall at the height of your head, quickly eroding a hole into the steel; The wraith has found you, and likely the rest of the misfits too.

You're careful as you stuff the patch into your pocket, but have no regard for the muscles in your back when you spread your wings out. Fresh ash cascades down the crystalline bones just as you flap your wings to send a gust of ash towards the front of the room. Mana surges to your cold arm and melts the stone into liquid lava which you fling into the cloud of ash, the heat from those drops of lava causing another explosion. Unable to sense where the wraith is, you focus on completely blocking off the exits in your flames, bright circles forming at the doorways and white hot flames shooting up, spilling over the door frame to scorch the ceiling.

You’re too distracted to notice Khaled move "Idiot boy have I taught you nothing?" the crackle of flames and the exploding ash masking his labored footsteps. His hand grabs your shoulder and pulls you back enough to jab a cold needle of a syringe into your neck.

Your wing shoots out automatically, knocking him back with enough force to have him crash into the wall. You yank the syringe out and toss it to the ground. The glass shatters, residual drops of bright purple liquid seeping into the ground.

But it’s too late.

You can feel Morgana’s tears course through your system, burning each cell in your blood vessels like battery acid, leaving your throat feeling numb and head light and heavy at the same time. You sway on your feet before your legs go weak and you fall to your knees with a gasp as if someone had punched you in the gut, your burning fingers tearing gouges into the floor as your muscles tense and relax a million times a second. Beelzebub’s black flames shoot out from between your fingers, freezing cold solidifying around your heart and in your arteries. It's a useless attempt to stave off the serum, to give you a few seconds more to escape, but you're glad for it.

You push on the ground with all the strength you can muster and get back on your feet. The weight of your wings nearly makes you fall on your ass as you’re forced to take a few shaky steps to keep your balance. From the corner of your eye you can see Khaled stumbling away from you, to the third exit to the room which leads to a catwalk connecting this building with another.

Raising your hand you try to summon a spell to take him out, a shaky circle forming at your palm. It breaks into a million pieces when a heavy body slams into you like a train, breaking your concentration and your ribs. You’re forced back until your wings hit the wall, forcing them to spread out as some of the crystal audibly breaks and cracks, accosting your brain with pain signals your mind was never created to handle.

Your hands shoot up, “Fire-” You force out in an attempt to combat the shroud Morgana’s tears weave around your mind. A circle forms, the usually crisp lines wonky and inconsistent. A few measly sputtering sparks flicker in the center of the circle before you’re able to force a bout of unwieldy flames in the face of your opponent.

You can feel how weak your fire is, you doubt you could give a man a second degree burn, let alone scratch the fireproof skin of the dragon that comes charging through your magic. Icy blue eyes dance in the periphery of your vision seconds before the dragon punches you right in the diaphragm.

You hunch over and almost vomit up an organ as all the air is forced out of your lungs. You feel your muscles tear and ribs break, your magic too focused on healing you to numb any of the pain that comes racing to your brain. You don’t know how you’re still standing but you weakly manage to slam your elbow back into the wall, quickly cooling lava scraping the metal and causing a spark.

The ash explodes for a second time, the force of it making your wings crack further yet they still hold. It creates a hole in the wall and forces the dragon to stumble back with a cough. You tip back and fall through the hole, the whole world weighing down on your body before you crash on the hot hard ground. The sudden stop knocks the breath out of you a second time, every muscle in your back screaming at you. Your chest is steadily growing colder as Morgana’s tears bypass Beelzebub, your arms feeling stiffer with every waking second as the serum forces your mana to slumber.

Your vision swims and blurs like the lines of a water drenched painting, voices somewhere close echoing in your ears. The dragon’s cold blue eyes stare down at you for a second before he jumps through the hole. You roll out of the way with great difficulty, avoiding him just in time as the dragon’s fist lands where you had just been and shatters the earth.

Stumbling to your feet you feel your blood leak down your back, pain pulsing in your chest as your mana struggles to heal each broken bone. Your mind is scrambling for the names of the spells you haven't needed to use in a long time, your thoughts further slowed by the fact you need to dodge out of the way of the dragon's fist. “Jump.” You speak. You summon a circle beneath your feet you that launches you into the air, the whirling world almost making you vomit and you barely manage to catch yourself on an oil containment tower.

Somehow through the ringing in your ears you hear the whirring of helicopter blades, turning your head to see a helicopter quickly rise from the roof of a building and start to fly away. You don’t need magic sense to know Khaled is in it. Your hand shakes as you raise it, Morgana’s tears steadily taking more of your mana hostage to the point it's getting hard to cast a single spell. “Fire bullet.” You manage to say, shooting off a shaky ball of concentrated flames.

You miss the rotor you had been aiming for, but by a lucky chance manage to hit the tail. Your fire isn't hot enough to melt the metal fully, but it still enough to make the helicopter swerve wildly. You watch it slowly loose altitude and crash somewhere beyond the tree line.

You’re not given even a second to catch your breath before the tower shakes violently, beginning to list heavily. You catch sight of a werewolf trying to scale it and that forces you to jump off the tower. You land on the one in front of you and don't stop, leaping across the three towers. Jumping off the last one you manage to flap your wings, the pitiful explosion that goes off beneath you gives just enough lift for your slowly liquifying wings to reach the roof of the second building.

You stumble as you land on the roof, the coagulated blood forming your Daedalus wings falling to the ground with a wet 'splat'. It feels like every single inch of your veins and arteries have been turned into pin cushions, the hot lava of your arms, absent of mana, quickly cools until there’s only a thin surface of cracked rock covering your muscles and bones. Your vision swims and you can barely move your arms, trying your best to just stay upright.

Asmodeus is the only thing unaffected, burning at the back of your mind like the last star of an empty universe. It tempts you with the heat of the magic it can give, with the power you could use if you just let it in. What's a few more drops of blood when you're drowning in it?

The harpy comes out of nowhere, slamming into you with enough force to knock you off the building.

You land on your back, barely able to utter a sound from how loudly your bones crack. Your leg is numb. Lingering dredges of your magic crawl across your spine, trying to fix your wounds with the same grace as cavemen with stole tools. You whimper like a child as you try to get up, barely able to dig your fingers into the scorched dirt to get some stability.

Footsteps approach you. A boot sharply kicks your side and forces you to roll on your front. "Playtime's over." A voice rings somewhere in your ears. Your scattered brain focuses on the accent — Manchester you think — instead of the clawed hands that yank your arms behind your back. Instinctively you try to scramble out of the firm hold but it's useless and the only thing you achieve is making the enemy pull on you harder.

Your arm is forced into a sickeningly familiar constraint; The mage cuff seals around your forearm and forces your hand into a fist, the binding spells making the metal feel like your arm is coated in liquid nitrogen. Your other arm follows suit, powerful magnets activating and binding the cuffs. They lock your arms together and painfully force your chest to stick out to the point you can barely move your arm without the risk of dislocating it.

More footsteps ring behind you as you weakly struggle. "Stay fucking still." The man above you growls as he yanks the helmet off your head with enough force you’re surprised he doesn’t take your head off. You gasp as the ash and smoke filled air enters your lungs, so unused to going without your helmet. A collar is quickly snapped around your throat, so tight you can barely breathe, needles on the inside digging into your skin. The binding spell on the collar is just as vicious as the one on the cuffs, forcibly pulling your brain into the bottom of the ocean.

Your vision swims with black spots and you’re barely able to see a man squat in front of you until rough clawed fingers grip your chin hard enough to make you bleed dark purple-red blood over his fingers. The enemy tugs your head up, but you’re unable to make out more than bright blue eyes and a stupid mohawk. "Huh, ah was expecting uglier."

Spite flares in your heart. A glob of spit and red blood shoots from your mouth at his face before you can think. The slap you receive nearly knocks your head off your shoulders and bashes your brain against your skull. His claws rake across your cheek, blood pouring down your skin. "Ahgk! Fockin' disgusting-" But It's worth it to hear the man curse.

"Told you not to take it off." The enemy on top of you growls.

"Charming." A lighter voice, you think it's the harpy, ads. "He's not going to turn into. . . one of them?"

"No." A new voice joins in, hard, angry, rumbling like thunder. You think it's the dragon, but your brain struggles to stay conscious let alone try to think. "Tape."

You shake your head to be difficult just out of spite, but sharp fingers bury into your scalp and pull your head up so the tape can be sealed over your mouth.

The enemy, wraith, your mind reminds, has no problem hoisting up your cold body, manhandling you like a doll.

You’re barely conscious as you’re roughly pushed into somewhere, somewhere without a lot of space. Two unyielding bodies squeeze you in on either side, your chest is barely able to move enough to ensure your lungs get a bit of air. Panic tries to get a foothold in your mind, to make your silent heart race. The walls and ceiling feel like they’re closing in, like you’re getting squished down and at any moment your organs will rupture—

But the drugs smooth out your brain like ocean waves weather down massive cliffs, your body so exhausted you can’t manage even a small twitch of a struggle. You feel the cold muzzle of a gun press against your temple, the cool sensation making you aware of the pounding headache.

"Move," The man on your left says, voice rough like sandpaper and with a distinct accent, "An’ yer dead." His threat sounds like an order, you don’t doubt he’s just itching for you to make a single move he can justify to his brass as aggression and kill you. You know you would do the same.

The vehicle you’re in rumbles to life but you can barely feel it, body and mind too exhausted to even hold your head up. Your stomach twists and turns as if trying to find a way to crawl up through your mouth, your lungs burn from the lack of air.

“Laswell we got-”

“-bout Khaled-”

“-ead, arsonist shot do-”

“-get out, the army reinforcements are co-”

You try to pay attention to what they say, but their words bang uselessly around your hollow skull, shapes and edges blurring together into abstract art. With nothing stopping it, Morgana’s tears leisurely branch through your blood vessels like brambles, making you shiver from how cold you are. You’re stuck in maddening limbo, there’s not enough of the drug in your system to turn you temporarily catatonic — your body is too used to the drug — but at the same time it’s fucking agony.

You've done this before, you know how much small victories count. You don’t know what they want from you, but you swear to yourself not to cry from the pain, both now and when the torture starts. You’re not a fucking child, not that snot nosed private you were when you first felt the sting of Morgana’s tears, you’ve been through worse.

But the problem is, you’re not out of tricks.

Your control over Valefar slips, the exhaustion and drugs slowly wearing down the rope of control you've been maintaining for months. Since the first day you started working for Khaled. You knew he’d betray you, you had that feeling in your gut. The collar beeps as mana suddenly sparks in your chest, thawed by the ancient magic you use. Without warning the needles in the collar jab into your neck as your mana builds, pumping more of the poison into your blood.

But it’s useless, with steam starting to rise off your chest not even you are able to hold it back. A rough chuckle forces its way out of your throat. You always figured you would die by your hand or not at all.

"What’s with the giggling?" The werewolf demands, gun still trained on you. "Something funny?"

You gather your strength and slowly roll your head back, every vertebra in your spine cracking from how much damage your body has received. The trembling wall of the truck gives you the support you lack. Black spots dance in your vision, but you manage to turn your gaze to one side.

On your right is the wraith. A creature of death. Violent Death.

You feel like there’s a joke about the situation somewhere. Figures you’d be sat against the personification of violent death. You’ve been living on borrowed time for too long, the reaper doesn’t like to wait.

Shadows darkening what little you can see of his face through the skull mask, making his eyes look like you’re staring into the void.

Unnerving.

You’ve been told your eyes are much the same.

The wraith stares at your face, into your eyes. You’re pretty sure this is the first time in ten years that someone has seen the eyes you were born with. The color is so painfully drab and human.

But it don’t last. Out of nowhere mana sparks in your eyes like a violent forest fire set off from the cinder of a forgotten cigarette. Oranges, reds, and yellows swirl around the pitch blackness of your pupil, bright and intense like staring into a black hole.

There’s no grand gesture to show the snapping of your control. Your heart skips a beat as it births Valefar, the soft cool magic nibbling on your veins as a pulse of cool mana rushes through to your fingers. You see the wraith stiffen, only barely able to sense how the world quivers.

The earth shatters.

The truck jerks forward and you almost fly out of the front windshield, kept in place by someone's rough hand gripping and pulling you back in place. The earth shakes violently as months of accumulated mana melts through rock and suddenly erupts from the ground as a beam of pitch black flames. You can feel Valefar laughing beneath the ground, inside your hollow heart. It takes joy in spreading your magic as far as it can, incinerating the arriving helicopters full of soldiers before they can even understand what's happening.

The car swerves to avoid the rocks falling from the sky, the air around you trembling as Valefar makes a crater out of the mountain. They’re lucky that your control finally evaporated when they were far enough to escape the impact zone.

You tilt your head, catching sight of the wraith. He stares at you.

Your eyelids flutter without your consent, all strength leaving you, but you manage to wink at him.

You pass out.

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